Just One, Big, Happy Kingdom
by Kitty O
Summary: Merlin's in for a world of facepalm when an old batty version of himself decides to teach him a lesson by sending him to an alternate universe. One where he has to deal with his friends' evil, silly, or downright wrong alter egos. And if Merlin's here, where's bad!Merlin...? No slash.
1. Prologue

**Title: **Just One, Big, Happy Kingdom

**Summary: **Merlin's in for a world of facepalm when an old, batty version of himself decides to teach him a lesson by sending him to an alternate universe. One where he has to deal with his friends' evil alter egos. And if Merlin's here, where's bad!Merlin...? No slash.

**A/N: Hey! So, this is going to be a multi chapter, and it is going to be a combination of serious and crackish. And it will include a bitter Gwen and a lecherous, creepy Arthur. As well as (hopefully) some of that bad!Merlin and normal Camelot. And whatever else I decide to throw in there. I have a basic plot for this, but it's pretty sketchy at the moment, especially since I'm not planning on posting any more of this for a week or so... I want to finish _Of the Wooded Land_ first, and perhaps start my next story. So, if you have any advice or ideas for the rest of the fic, please PM it or put it in a review! This is set in Season Three. Other chapters will be longer. This is just the hook, the teaser, the prolouge.**

**Without further ado, ladies and gentleman, my story.**

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><p>An old man leaned back and stroked his expansive beard, grunting a bit as his bones creaked.<p>

"Happy eightieth birthday," he muttered to himself, smiling. No one answered him back, since he was alone in the room.

In his old age, he had begun talking out loud to himself. Yes, sometimes people looked at him funny. Not often, though, since he _was _very powerful. But he was old enough not to care either way.

"Eighty years old, Merlin," he said, looking around at his walls and smiling a little. He might be old, but his memory was good. As good as ever. Mostly. "I believe it's the time."

He stood up and walked over to his old spell book, limping a little, just like he remembered his old friend Gaius doing back when Merlin was still young.

Picking it up, he flipped to the page he remembered so well, since he'd been flipping to it for weeks. The other spell that he would need shortly wasn't in the book, but that was alright—he had it down pat, all ingrained in his memory.

There it was. The time traveling page. And written on it in thick black script in the corner: _NOT FUNNY_.

Merlin grinned to himself.

"That's what you think," he said to the book. "It's going to be hilarious."

He read over the time travel spell while running his fingers through his straight white beard and nodded when he thought he had it.

"Well," he said, "time to stop myself from making the worst mistake of my life."

He stopped.

Paused.

Thought.

"And," he added as an afterthought to his old self once again, "I should probably warn him – oh, just listen to me; I mean _me_ – against any funny business with Morgana."

He smiled painfully, because his joints ached, and had to force himself not to cackle mischievously.

He began to chant.

As he looked down at the page and read, his golden flashing eyes fell upon the letters written there one last time. That note from himself to himself.

_NOT FUNNY_.

**TBC**


	2. I'm Leaving!

**A/N: You may or may not know this, but I am currently working on two stories… This one, which will have action and humor, and **_**Assassins**_**, which will have action and angst-ier subjects. I'll be splitting my time between them, but I'm not going to be strict about updating these stories. **

**I got some suggestions for this story, and I will use some of them. But others just don't fit into what I want, sorry. (I am just physically incapable of writing a FabulouslyGay!Evil!Arthur. My mind refuses to even **_**go **_**there.) So we'll just see what we get, eh? ENJOY! (Oh, and hey, the Author Notes will get a lot shorter. This is just because it's the beginning.)**

**Without further ado…**

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><p><span>Almost 60 years earlier<span>

Merlin was leaving.

This was it. He gave up. He didn't care anymore, and he was getting. The. Hell. Out. Forget the prat and the dragon and destiny. His bags were packed and he was leaving.

He could still hear Arthur's voice ringing in his ears, spurring him on as he threw his other shirt in a knapsack. The echoes hurt. Tears pricked at Merlin's eyes.

"_You're such a girl, Merlin. Shut up, Merlin. Why can't you ever do anything right, Merlin?"_

Merlin pressed the tears back. No need proving him right.

Arthur thought it was perfectly fine to just yell at Merlin to his heart's content. He didn't know the things Merlin did for him. Merlin didn't ask for recognition, though; all he wanted was not to be treated like dirt. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently.

Even after Balinor, after Freya, after Will, after Morgana, Merlin hadn't faltered or hesitated to help Arthur once, and he hadn't asked to be thanked or comforted. He hadn't thought about leaving after all of that.

But Arthur and Merlin had never had a row like this one before, _never_. And it started over something so tiny… All it had taken to turn from mostly-friendly banter was Arthur's breakfast being late and Merlin being a little grouchy on account of having gotten only three hours of sleep the night before and then sleeping in. (He'd saved Arthur's life last night, and it had taken time.) The next thing Merlin knew, Arthur was screaming at him, hurtful things like he'd never heard, some of them the same insults but with new venom. And Merlin, gods help him, had hollered back. He'd never yelled at Arthur before.

It was surprising no one heard them, actually, but somehow everyone missed the quarrel between prince and manservant.

It didn't end as their little spats usually did. There was no awkward shoulder-patting, and Merlin didn't half smile as he inwardly forgave Arthur. Instead, Arthur _shoved_ him out the door, ordering him to _leave_.

"Fine," said Merlin, glaring daggers at the prince's door. "Fine, I will."

And so he was going to leave.

Arthur didn't appreciate him at all. Arthur didn't care, he obviously disliked him—he couldn't have said those things otherwise, not like that.

Merlin wasn't even going to say goodbye to anyone. Gaius wasn't in his rooms, so Merlin left him a rather vague message. He was secretly relieved not to have to talk to Gaius about the whole thing. He didn't want to hear about "destiny" right now, and he didn't want Gaius to convince him to stay or to call him "my boy" at the moment.

He just wanted to leave. Maybe he'd go to Ealdor. Surely his mother needed help around the house. If not, maybe he'd just wander a bit. He wasn't all that crazy about the idea of going to Cenred's lands, though. He'd find some place somewhere.

Merlin lifted himself up off his knees and slung the brown sack over his shoulder. His jaw was clenched; his back was rigid. His eyes were quite dry, and for that he was thankful, but he hoped no one stopped him on the way out. He felt as fragile as an eggshell right now, and would just as soon not have anyone else calling him weak and girly.

He let his door smack into the wall when it opened, leaving it wide. Everything he could fit into his knapsack was missing from the room, but he'd left several important things, like the staff. He didn't have time to find a way to transport it.

No one stopped him as he walked down the hall, his feet near silent against the stone. He could feel their coldness through his shoes, he imagined. The air was chilly and wet around him, and Merlin shivered. It felt like rain. Oh, well, so he'd get wet. A quick spell should fix that.

He smiled slightly to himself. Once he was away from Camelot, he could use spells like that without looking over his shoulder every second. Sure, he'd have to watch out for bounty hunters and people of that sort, but he wouldn't be living right in a nest of metaphorical hornets—no magic-hating king or red-cloaked knights about to arrest him every time he turned around. He had gotten rather sick of that.

Wouldn't it be nice? Nothing holding him back. It sounded like freedom to Merlin. Why hadn't he left before? Whatever was holding him back anyway?

Weird that it had taken the realization that Arthur didn't really care to propel him out of Camelot. Already, as he just walked out of the castle and through the colorful bustle of people towards those gates (and weren't they like prison gates!), he was feeling more carefree. The totally inappropriate urge to laugh nearly overtook him, but he squashed it.

He would just walk out those gates, forget it ever hurt to have Arthur yell at him, and disappear from Camelot. Gaius and Gwen might miss him, sure, but he couldn't take any of this anymore. He'd send them both word that he was okay, and they'd forgive him as long if he wrote letters or something.

But he wouldn't write anything to Arthur, he thought with childish stubbornness as he walked right through the gates, waving almost cheekily to a guard that was acting like a statue. Let Arthur figure out for himself that his manservant had quit. Merlin wondered if it would take him long to find a new one.

Probably not. And to be honest, that servant would probably be better at serving than Merlin, who was passable but not excellent. He just didn't have the time to be excellent at that job.

Merlin took a deep breath, finding himself suddenly all alone outside of Camelot's walls. The road stretched out before him, over green hills, through those trees in the distance, right off into that blue sky.

That road had Merlin's name on it.

He took a step and grinned triumphantly to himself. He was really going. He was leaving. Not just pretending, but actually going.

He took another step. And another. He took a third. He was getting the hang of this "leaving" business…

_BANG!_

The humid air rippled like a wave in a lake, and Merlin found his top half leaning back faster than his legs could keep up. He lost his balance, and his eyes slammed shut as he fell to the ground, his body sending up a small cloud of dirt. The unmistakable scent of magic flooded his nose, and for a moment there was complete silence.

When he opened his eyes, an old man stood above him, looking at him. But not just any old man. This was a very familiar old man.

"Wha…?" Merlin gasped.

"Well, that worked," the old man commented. "Very well, actually; I got to you just in time! Such a useful spell."

"What… You…" Merlin gaped at him.

The old man smiled fondly. "I remember this part," he said, more to himself than to the young man.

"You look like I did…" Merlin looked confused.

"Naturally," said the man simply.

"You're… you're… me?" Merlin shook his head. Maybe he'd hit the ground a bit too hard. He was seeing things perhaps. That would make sense.

"Well, sometimes I go by— Dragoon… The Great!" The old man cackled a bit.

"Oh, gods," Merlin moaned, putting his hands up to his face. "You _are_ me! How is that possible?"

"I'm you in over half a century," Older Merlin clarified. "I've just stopped by to help."

Merlin looked him up and down, but mostly up since he was still sitting on the ground and peering at the bearded man with long white hair and robes… Oh, for heaven's sake, _robes_? He was going to wear robes?

Old Merlin reached out a hand to help Young Merlin to his feet. "I think at this point I remember thinking that I needed a haircut and a change of clothes. Actually, I remember him… um, me… saying this very thing to you… um, me. Really, we're both you, so I could speak in any person. It doesn't particularly matter, though it may confuse you, because you're about to ask me—"

"What are you talking about?" Merlin said in some confusion.

The Old Merlin giggled in a very old and senile fashion. "Sorry, I know I'm complicating things. I can't help myself; besides, I remember how he did the same exact thing. Naturally. He's me. What I mean, of course, is that I'm here from the future to help you, but since you are my past, I have already been through all of this, so I am both saying this and remembering this. I remember it pretty well, considering it's been almost sixty years. Not the kind of thing one forgets. You won't forget it, will you?"

"What are you talking about?" Merlin repeated in the exact same tone. "And please don't talk in circles. I've had a trying day. And now that you've showed up, I think it will get worse."

"I'm here to help."

The scene was absurd. Absolutely absurd. Two men, one young, one old, stood in the middle of a dirt road while rain clouds gathered overhead, and the old man beamed like he had just gotten a handful of sweets at nothing in particular.

"With what?" asked Merlin.

"I know what you're doing," said the old man, sobering. "You're leaving because you think he doesn't care, and because you think you don't care."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Please, don't try to tell me to stay. Future self or no, I'm sick and tired…"

"I'm not here to talk you into or out of anything, boy," said the self-proclaimed Dragoon the Great. "For the love of Camelot, I'm the greatest warlock in the history of magic! Do you really imagine I would do something so mediocre? Of course I'm not going to talk to you about it." He laughed like the idea was ridiculous, and reached forward to take Merlin's pack from his shoulders.

Merlin was so surprised that he let the man take it from it. "What are you going to do then?" he asked, though something deep inside him told him that he shouldn't.

The old man took the brown, heavy pack with all Merlin's possessions in his frail, pale arms and put it over his own bony shoulder. He reached out and took Merlin's arm in his leathery hand.

Merlin looked at the hand, wary.

"Well," said the old man with a mischievous, almost child-like grin, "I'm going to teach you a lesson, of course."

Merlin had just enough time to let these words sink in. He tried to pull away, because he knew, in that instant… _I am completely batty when I'm old! _But he couldn't detach himself from the surprisingly strong old man in time, and the sound of a magic spell reached his ears. Older Merlin's eyes went a liquid gold.

_BANG!_

And then the road that twisted over hills and out into those trees was completely and totally empty.

**TBC**


	3. Apparently I'm NOT Leaving!

**A/N: Last chapter I actually got more reviews than I did for the first chapter. That almost never happens, and so I was completely thrilled. Thank you all so much for making that possible! Again, hard to spot all mistakes, so please excuse them or point them out!**

**Without further ado…**

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><p>The first thing Merlin noticed was that the air was now dry and warmer.<p>

He felt a sudden shock, and then he could see again. Merlin twisted his head around, checking to see where he was, but to his surprise he hadn't moved from the spot on the road on the hill. He glanced up to see that his crazy older self was still standing there; he was holding onto Merlin's arm with young Merlin's pack still slung over his shoulder.

"Alright," said Merlin, jerking away, "Now what was that all about?"

Old Merlin smiled, taking Merlin's knapsack off his shoulder and shoving it into Merlin's hand. Merlin had the sudden thought that he'd better not start calling the old man by the old man's actual name, because the next thing he knew he (Young Merlin) would forget who he was. Wait. Merlin rethought that sentence and decided it didn't make any sense.

"That was the beginning of the lesson, of course," said the self-proclaimed Dragoon the Great.

Merlin looked around. "I don't see a lesson."

"You aren't where you think you are, Merlin," the old man warned. "It may look like your home, but it's not. As a matter of fact, it's about the furthest from your home you can get. It's your not-home."

A moment of silence met this statement.

"You've been around Kilgharrah too much," young Merlin said at last.

Old Merlin nodded. "The older you get, boy, the more appealing those riddles are."

Young Merlin looked skeptical. "What do you mean, my not-home?"

"Exactly that. This is the opposite of your home."

"Isn't that anyplace I don't live?"

"No," said the old man sagely, with the air of someone who is perfectly confident that his or her words will be accepted, either because he was sure he was right, or because he knew the other man couldn't prove him wrong. "This plane of existence wouldn't even have your home on it, because it's the complete opposite."

Merlin looked around again. "It looks like home."

"Yes, it does," agreed Old Merlin. He was considering explaining Indo-Aryans and how they discovered that they could use negative numbers, and then saying that those numbers could be put on a thing called a graph, and something like an opposite could be found, and then going on the explain that someday even children would know how to do this and they would moan and complain, "Why do we have to learn this?"… But he decided that his younger self wouldn't understand it.

"Now," the old man pressed on, "I can't stay long; you'll have to get started on your lesson soon, and Not-Merlin should be stuck waiting for me quite literally in the middle of nowhere, so I have to hurry."

"Who? And what lesson? I don't understand." Merlin looked like he wanted to yell or rip his dark hair out.

"I can't tell you what the lesson is," said Old Merlin almost apologetically. He rubbed his wrinkled hands together and then rubbed his back because it ached. "Partly because that would mean you didn't learn the lesson as fully as you ought to, and partly because he didn't warn me last time. Or rather, I didn't warn you. You didn't warn you? You didn't warn me?"

"Please," Merlin cut him off, looking nauseated. "Not that again."

Old Merlin chuckled and shook his head, then shifted on his feet. "Right, the warnings. Well, first off, remember this is not-Camelot. The people here think it's Camelot, and in a way it is, because if they went to your Camelot, then they would be in their not-Camelot. It's not an exact opposite in every way… for example: yes, you can still get in trouble for magic. Don't use it and get caught. It scares the king. That's because people, even when they are not-versions, are still people and have choices, some of which are the same and some of which are different. Did you get that?"

"I don't understand it, but I got it," said Merlin slowly. He was still thinking to himself that the soft grass beneath his feet felt like the grass he'd been on a minute ago. Maybe Old Merlin's spell hadn't worked? Maybe the old man really _was_ just crazy, and the young Merlin should be running away now.

"Now, you might want to avoid a lot of your friends until you understand who they are. They are very different versions of themselves. And even after you do understand them, be wary. Anything else?" he asked himself. "Oh, yes. Don't be alone with Not-Arthur."

Eyebrows rose up Merlin's forehead. "Why?"

"He's not quite right in the head, in my personal opinion. Better safe than sorry."

Merlin thought that was the most hypocritical thing he'd ever heard. And he'd been listening to Uther for years.

"He's the one you really need to look out for, especially since I believe he suspects about the magic. However, if Not-Gaius is in, do lock your doors at night. And remember he doesn't know about your magic."

Merlin was looking a little weak now, because it had begun to occur to him that this man might be telling the truth. "What is this Camelot, a nest of thieves and murderers or something? Lock out _Gaius_?"

Old Merlin, for a moment, looked very serious. His twinkly blue eyes – the same youthful and yet wise eyes that were at this moment in young Merlin's head too – stared solemnly. "In some places and times," he said. "But it's always dangerous. Now, since I'm here, you can tell that you will survive this… If time travel works the way I think it does. But don't be lulled into a false sense of security, Merlin. You have no idea what you'll go through here."

Now that struck a chord. A bit of terror took up residence in Merlin's heart as he took a step backwards and exclaimed, "Then why did you bring me here? Take me back!"

Old Merlin shook his head and half-turned away from the young man to stare at Camelot. "You'll thank me for it someday," he said. "Well, you'll thank yourself, I suppose. Whichever. And one last thing…"

"Don't change the subject!"

"One last thing. Gwen. She may not be dangerous, but she has been _venomous_ since Arthur had her father killed. I will see you rather soon."

"Wait… he did what? Merlin? Merlin!"

_BANG!_

Merlin was alone. Young Merlin, that is. Heaven knew where Old Merlin was, but one thing was sure… He certainly wasn't on that hill (not-hill?) with the man he'd dumped there.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Old Merlin, meanwhile, was thinking to himself that it really was quite mean of him to leave his younger self so scared of what he was going to go through.

_It really wasn't so bad. _

Of course, time had dulled things for him a bit. If he remembered correctly, which he thought he did, it had been plenty bad sixty years ago. And he had to say it, or else that boy might have gotten cocky.

Plus, old Merlin from his time had told him that exact same thing, so naturally he had to say it too!

As he continued to work on his spell and complete what needed to be done next, he realized that he'd sort-of-almost lied to himself. And he'd just spent several minutes talking to himself. Maybe he _was_ going senile like they said.

Oh, now he was confusing himself.

Okay, technically, he'd been confusing himself from the start, but…

Yeah, he needed to stop now.

And he'd forgotten to warn Merlin about Morgana too! Oh, well, too bad...

\-_BREAK-_-/

After that encounter and those warnings, Merlin wasn't sure whether he should continue out of Camelot or not. Should he go to the city or go away? If Old Merlin was right and telling the truth, then the Arthur there didn't care about him.

But then, that wasn't too much of a change, he reminded himself bitterly, remembering exactly why he'd been leaving in the first place.

He'd better leave then. He could learn a lesson just as well on the road as he could in Not-Camelot or wherever the heck he was. _Old Merlin should be back sometime,_ Merlin decided, turning his back to Camelot. _If I really am in some sort of not-world, if that makes any sense, then_ _he'll have to bring me back eventually. And he said he'd see me soon._

Merlin nodded to himself, pleased with this logic and an excuse not to have to go and see for himself if everyone was acting like not-versions of themselves. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what a Not-Arthur and a Not-Morgana and a Not-Uther acted like, and he certainly didn't care to discover what a Not-Gaius was like!

Taking a deep breath and settling the sack on his shoulders, Merlin took several steps forward, waiting for that sense of freedom to come back to him. He didn't feel it, not surprisingly.

Suddenly from behind him came the sound of hoof beats, and Merlin turned around to see who was riding up. Three men sitting up on horses were coming up the road from Camelot, and Merlin recognized the one in front as Sir Leon with his wavy brown hair. The two men behind him were knights of Camelot, and though Merlin knew them, they weren't the sort he usually dealt with—they were the sort that laughed when Arthur thought he was funny and did well enough in training, so Merlin never had to worry about them or speak with them. And they had no reason to introduce themselves to a servant.

Merlin, surprised, just stood there and watched as they approached quickly. Leon was scowling, which was unusual for the man who had such an optimistic personality. (Not-Leon? Oh, gods.) Maybe they'd ride past and not bother him, and then Merlin could just keep walking…

No such luck.

Leon pulled his horse up short in front of Merlin and scowled down at him. Merlin couldn't look away. It was definitely Leon; there was no doubt. He had the same face, the same build, the same everything. But somehow he looked different too. Perhaps it was something about the way his eyes looked narrower. Or maybe his hair was shorter. It was some sort of change, and Merlin didn't think it was for the better.

"Leaving?" Leon asked, eyebrows going up.

"Um…" Merlin looked guiltily at his sack. "Why do you think that?"

Leon held out a hand. "Give it to me."

Merlin was instantly insulted. "No! It's mine!"

Leon's scowl deepened. "Don't you talk to me like that; I'm a knight of Camelot! I said, give it to me, or I'll take it by force… and your hand with it."

Okay, that did it. Old Merlin was telling the truth. Because the only way that Leon would say that back in his home was if he was hit by a spell that made him go temporarily insane. It wasn't like Leon had never threatened anyone before… But the real Leon never sounded quite so dangerous when he did.

Merlin gave him the sack and snatched his hand away, aware of the blade that Leon and the others kept close at hand.

If Not-Leon sounded out of character to him, Merlin was sure that anything he said to Leon would sound out of character for Not-Merlin. But he had to ask. He'd figure out how to act like not-himself soon enough.

"Why'd you three ride out after me?" he asked.

"Thought you might be trying to leave," said one of the knights, a young man with swarthy skin and dark eyes.

"As the prince's manservant," said the other in a stuck-up voice that irritated Merlin to no end, "you know too much to be allowed to simply sneak out without even resigning. Who knows what you could be planning?"

Was the prince's manservant a prisoner in this Not-Camelot, then? Was Uther so very paranoid here that he ordered him to be watched or dragged back if he left? Poor Not-Merlin.

"Actually," said Not-Leon, who was peering inside the knapsack, "it's because you are the prince's manservant, and neither I nor Arthur nor anyone else is willing to spend the time and effort it would take to replace you. Ah," he interrupted himself, shutting the back on its contents. "You were planning on leaving."

He tossed the bag back to Merlin, who caught it in both hands and put it back on his shoulder, looking up at Leon a little nervously.

"Also," continued the knight, "that would put the prince in a foul mood, and_ I_ am not going to go through that because of the likes of you." He drew his sword and used it to point in the direction of Camelot, still staring Merlin down. "Walk."

Merlin, looking at that sword and taking all things into consideration, did what any intelligent human being would do in that moment. He walked.

Back the way he came from (or was it?), Merlin put one foot in front of another, not looking back. Behind him, he could clearly hear the sound of the knights' horses following. Like guards transporting a prisoner.


	4. It's Like a Vacation, But Not

**A/N: Thank you all. I can't say how much it means to me that the enthusiasm for this story hasn't faded. Again, sorry for any mistakes; it's the long chapters… Proofreading them is so hard!  
><strong>

**Without further ado…**

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><p>"Look who's back."<p>

Merlin winced. He knew that voice… but at the same time, he didn't. It sounded like Arthur, but there was something in it that Merlin didn't recognize. It was Not-Arthur, he assumed.

Old Merlin's words came back to him. Don't be alone with him.

Well, Merlin wasn't. He was before the steps in the courtyard with Leon and the other two knights glaring at him with the clear command: _Turn around and look at your master. _

Merlin would rather not, if Arthur was going to look like his voice sounded… If he was going to look like Leon. But in the end, he didn't really get a choice. He turned around to face the steps that Arthur was coming down, but he went slowly, reluctantly.

And then he spotted Arthur and nearly fell over.

The first thing Merlin noticed was that his shirt, though still red, was dyed a bit darker. Quite appropriate, if Old Merlin was too be believed. The second thing Merlin noticed was that Arthur's hair wasn't neat, like usual, but rather mussed in the manner of a man who didn't care—or wanted others to think he didn't. He was thinner than the Arthur that Merlin was used to, and it made Merlin feel like someone wasn't doing their job right. Probably Not-Merlin. Other than those things, there was no physical difference in the Arthurs. None of that was what surprised Merlin, though.

It was the way Not-Arthur was staring at him.

People shouldn't stare at Merlin that way. No one he knew did. Especially not Arthur! His Arthur had a variety of looks that he liked to shoot, from surprised to angry to annoyed to mocking to almost-affectionate. But he never looked at Merlin with such distrust, such suspicion.

Merlin didn't like it.

Not-Arthur (who of course didn't know that he was Not and thought of himself just as Arthur) finished descending the steps and marched over to where Merlin was standing. He marched everywhere he went, unless he was hunting. Then his need for silence overcame his need to walk like he was angry at someone or something. But that didn't happen often anyway; he hated hunting. Terribly boring. He came up to the errant servant—but not too close.

"I was beginning to think you'd run off," said Not-Arthur, and looked at Not-Leon. His expression became slightly less distrustful.

Leon said nothing, whether for Merlin's sake or his own.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Merlin weakly, smiling, and Not-Arthur's eyes snapped to him, looking faintly alarmed at what Merlin had said.

For a moment neither spoke.

This Arthur looked down. "Why are you wearing that?"

"What?"

He pointed, but not too close. _One never knows what Merlin's planning. One day he'll have a knife hidden in those clothes. _

"My neckerchief? What about it?"

"Is that what it is? Why are you wearing it?"

"I… like it."

Arthur studied it. Merlin felt like bolting; there was something scary about Not-Arthur's eyes. Or maybe it was the way they moved, like he was trying to see past what was actually there so that he could grab what was hidden and… Merlin didn't know what he'd do with it. But it would probably be bad. And Merlin wanted those eyes off his neck.

For his part, Not-Arthur was wondering if that "neckerchief" could hide or be used as a weapon. _Could probably strangle someone with it. _

"Alright," Not-Arthur said at last. "You're late, but I won't punish you this time. I'm eating with my father in less than an hour."

If Not-Arthur was this bad, what was Not-Uther like? "Yes, Sire."

Arthur seemed to be a little put at ease by Merlin's compliance. He relaxed. Not with the air of someone who had been saved from an argument, Merlin noticed, but rather like someone who had finally gotten what they had expected from the start. He looked a little smug, but still suspicious.

_I'm probably acting nothing like Not-Merlin! But I don't know how… I never met Not-Merlin!_

"I need you to find that shirt you were supposed to get washed, find the fellow who tastes my food, and _these_" – he pointed to his feet – "are not the boots I wanted to wear today, but the others are missing. I can't find them, and Mer_lin_, if you've stolen them, I _will_ have you flogged."

He watched to see how Merlin would reply to that.

Merlin remembered the distrustful looks Arthur kept giving him… Maybe Not-Merlin was just sticky-fingered? He chuckled and tried to make it sheepish. "Yes, Sire, I understand," he said.

And then he walked away. When he passed Arthur, the prince recoiled. Merlin kept going, tried not to look back, and walked lightly up the stairs. He didn't look back, though it was killing him.

And so he didn't notice that Not-Arthur was watching him with eyes narrowed with hidden fear. _Maybe he's planning something. But he wouldn't be that obvious about it, surely? _

Merlin kept walking into the castle and down the hall, his head reeling. He didn't know what was going on, what Old Merlin's plan or "lesson" was; he didn't know this Arthur or this Leon. He didn't know anything. It was like his first days in Camelot all over again. But hopefully without the executions and the dungeons and the mace fights.

Just as he was thinking that, Merlin walked by an empty alcove cut into the wall, something that he had always thought to be rather impractical; the only good such things did was to assassins, escaping people, and those who wait in ambush for certain people to—

"Ah!" he cried, though it was really more of a yelp, as a hand latched onto his arm and yanked him forcibly into the alcove. _Oh, for crying out loud! _Only one person did that. He didn't even have to think about it.

"Morg—" he started, but he never finished the name.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Blue eyes surveyed the land under his feet suspiciously. The man the reader knows as Not-Merlin then looked back up at the old man… How had he introduced himself? Older version of not-himself?

Crazy old codger.

Well, the codger was still talking. Didn't he know that Not-Merlin (or Merlin, as he knew himself) didn't _care_? He'd lost interest after Not-Camelot and something about another version of himself in his own Camelot. Okay, so that part about everyone being different from themselves was pretty interesting. But after that it was all glares and warnings. Merlin hated glares and warnings… They were all he'd ever received from his mother growing up, and a boy got rather tired of them. That's why he'd cursed his mother to lose her voice when he left for Camelot.

_Rather childish, that, _he admitted to himself, smirking faintly. _But I gave it back, after all. I had to; otherwise she might have tried turning me in for my magic. She wouldn't dare now that she knows what I would do if she did. _

That was the idea, anyway. It was a calculated risk, letting her walk around free while she held his secret, but he thought she'd stay quiet. He'd take the risk. After all, she _was_ his mother.

The old Merlin was still talking, but now he was looking Not-Merlin in the eye and speaking quite emphatically about not hurting anyone while Arthur learned his lesson.

"Or else," added the old man.

The old Merlin was a pleasant looking fellow. Not-Merlin found himself wondering what kind of man his younger counterpart was. Probably sweet with an easy smile. Actually, the entire population of this Camelot probably was if the Old Merlin thought that he had to threaten in order to keep them safe! It was like this old man thought that the younger would try to take out the prince with his own sword.

_Bet they can't take care of themselves, even. The Arthur I know wouldn't let me out of his sight if he thought I was within five feet of a weapon. But Arthur's a fool—all he ever thinks of is weapons, concealed or otherwise. _Merlin wouldn't try to kill him so mundanely; he was no match for him , Not-Merlin had decided a while ago that if he wanted to off the prince, he would use Gwen to do it. It would be so simple. He would just threaten or bribe her a bit, get her to accept one of Arthur's many offers, and then stab the prince the minute his back was turned.

Not that he would ever hurt his own Arthur (what this man would consider Not-Arthur, Merlin figured). No, Merlin needed him! That prince was his free ride to fame and riches, if Merlin played the cards right.

Wait, where was he again? This old man was so boring that he'd begun woolgathering again.

"I understand," Not-Merlin said to him with his signature half-grin, pointing his face towards the ground.

"You'll get to go home as soon as they've learned their lessons," Old (Not?) Merlin said.

_I wonder where _my_ future self is, _this Merlin thought.

"Very well," he said. This could be like a vacation. He'd never been to an alternate universe before. He looked forward to meeting the versions of his acquaintances and getting to know them… how they ticked, what they thought. As long as they weren't all so boring.

Old Merlin looked at the sky. "I did tell you to avoid Uther and Morgana, didn't I?"

"You did; you went over all of that," Not-Merlin lied with a smooth smile.

Old Merlin eyed him distrustfully, as everyone eyed this Merlin. There was something about him which demanded distrust. He looked dishonest. Technically, he looked very much like the nicer Merlin, excepting the dark hair brushed into his eyes, wider eyes, and a slinky, oily way of moving. He just seemed the kind of person you had to watch out for, the kind of person you'd better be afraid of…

Or maybe Old Merlin just thought that because he _knew_. Thinking back, he didn't remember Arthur telling him that Not-Merlin was like this. Perhaps it wasn't really so noticeable unless you knew.

But Old Merlin doubted it.

He'd never run into this version (younger, darker) of himself, because the last time he'd been in this position, he'd been the person stuck in Not-Camelot. Old Merlin didn't know what he was supposed to do or say with this man, but he knew that jokes were not going to work, nor was talking in circles. He'd tried both things, and while they'd been so amusing on the young Merlin, _this_ young Merlin didn't react at all.

It was disconcerting.

Not-Merlin looked towards Camelot. "Can I go there now?" he asked, almost eagerly.

"I was going to fill you in a bit on what everyone is like here…"

Merlin brushed this off. "I will figure it out for myself. I'm sure you have other things to be doing, anyway. Since I don't have a lesson to learn, there's no need to explain things so fully for me. Perhaps you should just check on my alter ego… My other self, as it were."

"I'll be watching you, you know," Old Merlin started.

"Of course you will be." Not-Merlin smiled, and it was like ice, as opposed to the sunshine the other Merlin always seemed to carry around with him.

How, wondered Old Merlin, how didn't Arthur notice that?

And then: _Oh, what kind of monster am I unleashing on poor Camelot? _

Well, the last Merlin had done it. That last old Merlin must have been _batty_… Oh, wait, that was this old Merlin. Same person. Whatever.

"Fine," he said at last. "You can go down to Camelot now. But don't tell anyone that you are—"

"From the _real_ Camelot, I got it," the young man cut him off, and then turned greedy, excited eyes to Camelot's towers.


	5. This is Not Comfortable

**Without any ado…**

* * *

><p>Merlin had never been kissed by Morgana before, but somehow he found it was an unmistakable experience—he knew it was Morgana, even though he couldn't really see her. She was too close for that.<p>

He didn't even get out her full name before she was pressed up against him, her lips covering his.

A muffled, slightly squeaky sound escaped him in his surprise, and he leant back to get away… But she just followed him, so now he was sandwiched between her and the wall, and her _hand_ was in his _hair_, and he had no idea what was going on.

For about two seconds, he stood there helplessly, as still as a post, his hands by his side, confused. But that didn't seem to deter her at all, and so finally Merlin regained his senses enough to realize that he should not be allowing Morgana to kiss him, and he pushed her away.

Morgana wrapped her arms around his middle instead and put her head down on his shoulder with a sigh. Her breath had the slightest catch in it.

"Oh, Merlin," she said in a slightly whiny voice. "When I saw Leon and the knights ride off after you, I thought you were _leaving_ me."

There were so many things wrong with that statement, not to mention the tone it was said in. Morgana never spoke in that tone of voice.

When Merlin didn't respond, she hugged him tighter. "You said you wouldn't leave! You promised!"

Merlin lifted an arm slowly and patted her on the back. "There, there," he managed.

Several quiet moments passed, during which Merlin tried to wrap his head around this—a Morgana that would drag him into an alcove to kiss him and then cling to him like some kind of overwhelmed leach? Not-Morgana was _strange._

_Though a good kisser. I can see why Not-Merlin…_

_No, let's not think that. Don't go there. _

At last Morgana pulled back and looked up at him, and Merlin got a good look at Not-Morgana's face.

She looked like herself, of course, but like everyone there was that subtle but important difference; her makeup was less severe, and her face was more relaxed, pleasanter—but also somehow emptier. The Morgana he knew, you could always tell she was plotting something. This Morgana just looked slightly lost.

There were tears on her face, too.

_A crying female, and it's Morgana to boot. I don't think I can do this. _

"Why would you leave?" she whined. "You promised you would stay and help me. What would I do if you left?" Her breath started speeding up, and her chest rose and fell rapidly with her gasps for air. Her green eyes were wide, and Merlin felt a burst of panic. He'd rather deal with that suspicious Arthur.

"It was just a misunderstanding," he assured her, keeping his eyes quite firmly on hers. "I'm not leaving."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm not. I promise. I'm still here to… uh, help you." _I don't know what with, though, _he thought, wondering if this Morgana still wanted to kill Uther.

She calmed herself with obvious effort. "Oh, good!" she told him, beaming and wiping her eyes with some sniffles. "I was so worried."

"Yeah…" he said with a weak smile.

She leaned forward to try to kiss him again, but he jerked away. She took a step back, her green dress dragging on the floor, and looked hurt.

"I have to… uh, I have to go… get Arthur ready for that dinner with his father," he said apologetically.

She stared at him with her eyes wide, and her head slowly tilted to the side, the picture of puzzlement. "You'd rather help him than kiss me?"

"No," he told her, not sure if it was a lie. "Just… my job, you know?"

A blank stare.

_Okay, Not-Merlin obviously puts romance over work. Nice to know. _

"Afterward, I can help you with… um…"

She supplied for him, "With coming up with a new plan?"

"Yes, that. We'll do that."

She smiled at him, still looking a little confused, and Merlin slipped out of the alcove, glad to have more space.

"Good to… see you again," he said, walking backwards in an attempt to leave without looking like he was fleeing.

She stepped out of the alcove too. "You saw me last night."

"But I haven't… since then." Two more steps back.

"Oh… okay." She blinked twice. "Later?"

"Later."

He turned on his heel and walked as fast as he could without running towards Arthur's chambers, very aware that Not-Morgana was watching him go with that empty look.

He shuddered.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Uther, or rather Not-Uther, looked out of his window, his back very determinedly facing the door behind him. The door that Arthur would be coming through in just a few minutes in order to eat with his father.

_We can't start without that man who tastes my food, _he thought. He didn't remember the man's name. The last one had died, and this one had almost passed away—luckily Gaius knew his poisons. He knew his poisons very well. There was no doubt that someone was trying to kill Uther… Or even more than one person. It could be a group.

Even thinking about it made him feel rather weak at the knees, like he might collapse.

_It might even be… a magical group! _

He nearly fainted right there. Uther made his way quickly to the table and let himself fall into his chair (after checking it).

Of course, he knew it might just be one person the guards hadn't caught yet. It was like those guards weren't even trying.

Or it could be someone they'd never suspect.

_It could be Arthur. _

Uther remembered what Gaius had told him: if you start to breathe so hard your stomach hurts, take deep, slow breaths. Don't panic.

He tried it, and found that it helped slightly. He tried to assure himself that Arthur wouldn't do that, but he couldn't. He'd seen the way his son eyed the throne when his father sat on it. He'd realized how his son tried to take charge of things, telling his father it was to save him the stress. It wasn't, and Uther knew it. (Though he was rather glad to be spared the stress.)

Arthur wanted the throne.

_He'll get it one day, too. I'd have him arrested… but… He'd probably just escape anyway_. Besides, Camelot needed a ruler. All those reasons... and Uther was a bit scared to try. His son would win any power struggle Uther started, and he admitted it to himself. He understood strategy just as well as Arthur, of course… But somehow Arthur had something he didn't.

The most the king could do was not let himself be alone with his son, and watch his back closely. And that was no more than anyone else did where Arthur was concerned.

The door opened, and Uther nearly leapt out of his seat with surprise. He managed to recover, and sat up in a way that he thought was quite impressive.

Arthur stalked into the room, wearing a loose laced-up shirt and no sword at his side, but he had a knife hidden somewhere, Uther knew. He was smiling facilely, walking smoothly, and Uther watched him carefully. Behind him came his servant, Merlin.

Uther repressed another shudder. He didn't like that servant. He had a funny way of looking, funny way of moving, like he was calculating everything. Like he was trying to read you. He unnerved the king. And he seemed much too comfortable, too confident for someone who spent all day with Arthur. _The boy should be a nervous wreck. _He really had no right always looking calm.

Though right now, Uther noticed, looking the boy up and down suspiciously, he didn't look so calm. He had the look of someone trying to pretend they were calm while they were privately panicking. Maybe something happened.

_Something Arthur did? Is Arthur up to something?  
><em>

Wide eyes flew back to the prince, but Arthur looked the same as usual. Maybe it was something else?

The prince's feet made sharp, staccato sounds as they hit the stone floor. He made his way to the head of the table, and then swept the red cape he was wearing out of the way with a flourish as he bowed to his father.

"I'm sorry I made you wait, Father."

Behind him, Merlin didn't know whether to laugh or scream. The Arthur he knew did not, under any circumstances, _flourish, _and that had been just about the most terrifying thing that had happened all day. _Except for Morgana with big, empty eyes. _

"There is no need to apologize," he said. "The testers haven't arrived yet anyway."

"They haven't?" Arthur's eyebrows rose. He looked back at Merlin with an accusation in his eyes.

Merlin straightened. "I… I thought they'd test the food in the kitchens, before it arrived," he said, trying not to stutter, because something told him that Not-Merlin didn't stutter.

"Then how would we know it had been tasted at all, Mer_lin_?" he drawled.

Merlin blinked. He couldn't suggest they just take the kitchens' word for it. He hadn't been here long, but he knew that would be ridiculous. "I'll… uh… I'll go get…"

"Yes, you should," Not-Arthur sneered. Merlin then found himself turning to go back through those open doors and almost-fleeing for the second time that day. Arthur watched him go, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn't trust Merlin further than he could throw him (as a matter of fact, not even that far), and the servant had been acting very strangely today.

Turning back to his father, he tried to push the thought to the side for later. He'd just be careful.

Uther was watching where Merlin had gone too. "You could fire him if he's not doing his job properly," he pointed out.

Arthur smiled. "That's an idea," he said agreeably, and went to sit down in his own spot. But he knew he'd never fire Merlin. No, for as long as Merlin was alive, Arthur wanted to know what he was up to. If he wasn't right under Arthur's nose, then who knew where he would be?

_Safer this way. _

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin rushed down the hall to the kitchens, feeling like the world was coming apart at the seams. What he wouldn't give to even find one person acting like his or her normal self! Morgana, or Leon… heck, he'd be satisfied if Cook acted like herself, but somehow he had a feeling that she wouldn't.

Old Merlin had a nasty sense of humor.

As he was about to go into the kitchen, he caught sight of someone about coming down the hall, and stopped without thinking.

"Good afternoon, Merlin," she said with a wistful little smile.

"Gwen," he greeted her with a nod, pleasantly surprised. Hadn't the older Merlin warned him about her? She was acting normal so far. She even looked like herself, though her dress collar was closer to her throat than usual, and her hair seemed to have been given more care than his Gwen did.

"What are you doing down this way?"

"Come to get the taste testers, apparently," he said nervously, and she nodded in understanding.

"That way," she told him, pointing to two men that he didn't recognize who stood in the corner of the kitchens.

"Thanks," he told her, pleased that she hadn't stared at him suspiciously or blankly yet. Sure, she wasn't giving him the warm look that Gwen usually liked to share, but she didn't seem to be the complete opposite of her usual personality. "You two are needed by the king and prince," he told them, hoping that this was a normal enough order and the men would know what to do.

Sure enough, the two men got up without a sound and left the room. Merlin sighed in relief and turned back to Not-Gwen, who was telling Not-Cook (who was wearing an ugly scowl) that she just needed a tray, for Morgana would be eating alone tonight.

"I'm _assuming_," she added, giving Merlin a sneaky little half-smile that made him feel a little uncomfortable again. He tried to return the smile. "Why didn't you go back with them?" she asked then.

"I thought I'd stay down here as long as I could get away with, away from the royalty for a bit," he told her, trying to keep his voice devoid of all tone in hopes that he would sound more like Not-Merlin.

She gave him a funny look, like she hadn't been expecting that answer. "I don't blame you," she said, recovering. "I wouldn't want to be with Arthur any more than I had to if I were you. It's not safe for anyone." She scowled, seemingly uncaring that Merlin was looking disconcerted and that Cook was glaring at her for her harsh words. And then she added with vehemence, "That —"

And here she called Arthur a word that made Merlin's eyebrows rise, and he thought, _Okay, she's not the Gwen I know, that's for sure._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Why yes, I made Morgana an airhead. And yes, I made Uther a coward. And if you ask me, that rather deserves a review, because this chapter was HARD to write! Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you're still enjoying, I'll hopefully have the next chapter up before the week is out. **

**Oh, and**_** Merlin**_** airs October 1****st****, is that right? Saturday, right? I don't want to miss it!**


	6. Let's Not Smile

**Ohmigosh. Last chapter did so well. *is pleasantly surprised* You're all wonderful people…**

**MERLIN IS COMING! But, not being from the UK, I will have to wait… Until somebody lovely puts it up online.**

**Without further ado…**

* * *

><p>Arthur took off his jacket and threw it onto his bed.<p>

And then he picked it back up again and shrugged it back on.

Fighting with Merlin had left him with a vaguely uneasy feeling in his stomach, like he'd gone too far, really messed up, and some part of him knew it. But that was ridiculous. Arthur hadn't done anything wrong, per say. He couldn't be nice all the time, he told himself, and if Merlin was offended, he was just too sensitive. Arthur was _not _a bad master (he told himself). He'd never even laid a finger on the servant. Never seriously, anyway.

He took off his jacket again.

It wasn't such a big deal. It was just an argument. It was the unfamiliar expression on Merlin's face when he left that was unsettling Arthur, that was all.

Arthur sighed restlessly. Maybe he should go beat up on a practice dummy or something. He never did handle being bored well; he needed things to do.

Arthur made his way to his window and looked out, and after a moment his eyes lighting on a figure he knew. Merlin, walking back into Camelot. Now why had he left beyond the gates anyway?

_Probably something for Gaius. _

Arthur didn't turn away immediately. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Merlin, walking through the crowd.

_He looks different. _

It took him a bit to pinpoint it, but at last Arthur saw the difference. Merlin's hair was smoother, more controlled, but down over his forehead for some reason. And he was walking differently—more like striding, and less like the clumsy steps Merlin usually took.

_He looks ridiculous. _

But, actually, he strangely didn't look all that silly. For once. Odd.

Merlin seemed to realize he was being watched, even from this distance, because his eyes flickered up and met Arthur's with a suddenness that caught the prince off guard. Startled, Arthur turned away from the window.

He didn't see Merlin glare suspiciously up at his window.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"Merlin!"

Not-Merlin turned to look at the person coming up behind him. He'd known she was heading this way for a while; really, they weren't very subtle around here. First Arthur and now this. Did none of them know how to skulk?

"Gwen," he greeted her.

She beamed at him in a way that he'd never seen anyone beam before. Her face was like a ray of sunshine. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

He looked up. She obviously expected him to agree. How would his not-self reply? If this Gwen was so cheerful (it was _disgusting_, honestly; he was already feeling sick inside), then perhaps that Merlin was the same way.

Fine. He would try that.

But he refused to bounce the way she just had. That would _not_ happen.

"It is a good day, isn't it?" he said, smiling in a way that he hoped was not creepy or too clever. He thought it might have been under-done, but Gwen didn't seem to find anything off.

_Okay, he's not too cheerful, perhaps. One can hope. I'd hate to think that kind of person walked around with my face. _

"I was thinking of going to pick some flowers," she confided, "since Morgana doesn't need me today. She doesn't really seem to want me around lately…"

Perhaps she expected some comfort (something along the lines of "Who wouldn't want you around?" That sounded like something a woman would want to hear), but Merlin was still stuck on the fact that she'd just said she was going to pick flowers. Gwen. Picking flowers. The thought was hilarious.

The only way his Gwen would consider doing that was if someone she disliked was allergic to flowers.

_Was Uther allergic to flowers? _He wondered suddenly, as he was wont to do. _That would be much more effective the next time Arthur wants to off his father and push his way to the throne. And I wouldn't have such trouble making sure he isn't suspected for treason when taste testers die… The fool, honestly…_

"Merlin?"

"Sorry, Gwen, woolgathering." _Not that it's any of your business. _"What was that?"

She was looking faintly concerned. "You just had… an odd look on your face. Nothing." She smiled again. "I'll see you later, then? You are going to stop by and pick up Arthur's mended shirt, aren't you?"

"Of course. Tonight?"

"That's what we'd decided, wasn't it?"

"Ah… yes. Yes, it was." He thought. "Thank you, Gwen."

"Oh, and tell Arthur I said hello, won't you? I just…" She blushed. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Sure. Of course."

She flounced away. He watched her go. _Blushing? How very, very strange… This Not-Camelot is extremely different. _

As he walked away, he shook his head. Gwen wanting to tell Arthur hello. Apparently those two got along in this world. Or more than just "got along." Briefly, Not-Merlin thought of how the other Merlin must feel in _his_ Camelot, where Arthur had Gwen's father executed on trumped up charges because she kept refusing his advances… which just made her hate him more, of course. (Something that he had warned the prince about, but that man never listened anyway…)

Merlin stopped a servant on the way in the castle and asked for the time. He received a pleasant smile that set his teeth on edge and an answer. Merlin gave her his signature smile, the half-grin with the white flash of teeth and eyes that let people know who they were dealing with. Just as a warning. In return, the servant gaped.

It was time to bring Arthur something to eat, if he was right. Which he might not have been. He wasn't used to this schedule yet.

He went by the kitchens, and surely enough there was a tray waiting for him.

"Prince is eating alone today, then," he decided to himself.

"Good day, Merlin," greeted Cook, smiling thinly over a steaming pot. "You're a bit late, aren't you?"

"Not too late."

"I guess Gaius kept you busy this morning?"

Okay, what was it with these people? Why did they insist on asking all these questions? What, were they some sort of spy network? It was horribly aggravating, the way they all kept asking things he didn't know. And smiling while they did it. He didn't like it. The only people that smiled that much were his enemies before they tried to kill him. Well, and Morgana, but everyone knew she didn't have much going on upstairs anyway, and nothing to think about except smiling.

_Which is the best thing about her; you never have to worry she'll start scheming and stab you in your sleep. _The same couldn't be said for the Gwen he knew. This was why her enemies shouldn't fall asleep near her. (But Arthur kept trying.)

"I suppose he did," he said, smiling. Maybe in this world everyone smiled all the time. How horrible. Did the other Merlin also smile this much?

"Well, you'd better run that to the prince then," she said.

And as Merlin started to leave the room, easily balancing the tray, Cook called after him, "And don't forget to eat well!"

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Not-Merlin hated Arthur at once.

His hair was swept out of his face. His eyes were large and blue and expressive and he was a pretty sort of handsome. Somehow, it all screamed, "Please punch me in the face!"

But that probably wasn't wise. Though if this Arthur was really _his_ Arthur's (and he always thought of Arthur as _his_—his work, his future, his creation in a way) opposite, then perhaps Merlin could actually get away with punching him in the face. That would be fun.

"I hope you weren't sulking, _Mer_lin. What took you so long?"

Merlin had about a second to go through his relationship with his own Arthur in his head, turn it on his head, and try to think about how he would apply that if he were to bring it into the world.

"Working for Gaius. I wasn't sulking."

"I hope not. Even a girl like you shouldn't take little arguments like that to heart."

Merlin put the tray down and eyed him. _A girl, am I? Is your servant a doormat, then? No, you look like you're waiting for a response, like you want me to strike back at you. Do you two like to fight? Or do you just want to anger me? _

Many things were possible. But one thing was certain… This Arthur was a lot less careful about his rudeness. He threw it about sloppily, like he honestly thought this was normal behavior. And he wanted to get hit back.

"At least I have a heart," he insulted, trying not to appear tentative.

Arthur smiled briefly, reassured. "Merlin?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Shut up."

Arthur walked over to the tray, tore off a piece of bread, and stuffed it into his mouth. He didn't ask about it being tasted, and he didn't demand Merlin run down to the kitchen to get the tester.

"Oh, speaking of hearts… Sire?" Arthur didn't seem to notice the slight rise in his voice, making the title a question, so Not-Merlin assumed that was correct. "Gwen told me to tell you hello."

Arthur swallowed harder than he had a second ago and blinked twice instead of once. Merlin was watching for it, so he noticed.

"Is that all she said?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"That's it."

Merlin noticed the expression of disappointment that crossed his face. _Near obsession with her? Well, that hasn't changed at least… _But this Arthur looked less savage when he was thinking about her, whereas his own Arthur looked like he was about to smash something when he thought of the woman. Merlin noticed these things. It was his job as the person who would get his Arthur on the throne, and lately he'd been thinking that he'd have to either get her up there with him or get rid of her, or Arthur would never stop complaining and fixating on her.

"Well… that was nice of her, then," Arthur said awkwardly. An awkward Arthur was something that Not-Merlin had never seen. It was amusing. "Merlin, my sword is dull."

"Your sword is never dull."

There was a pause. Arthur stared at him. Merlin tried not to look away but cursed in his head. He hadn't meant that. He hadn't meant to speak in his own voice, with his own feelings and thoughts. He'd been caught off guard that this Arthur would admit to him that his sword was dull.

He'd slipped up.

That was not professional.

Flushing, Merlin bowed his head. "Sorry, please continue."

Arthur's eyebrows went down in consternation as he gazed at his servant with a baffled look that seemed to say, _What species are you, exactly? _But after a bit, he shook his head and simply went on. "I want you to sharpen it. I'll be using a practice sword for training today, but I want it to be ready anyway. Also, my room is a bit messy, as you can see." He waved his arm. Indeed, the clean, rich room was littered with objects as though they'd been thrown, and in fact, they had. That morning when Arthur was yelling, he'd tossed them at Merlin. "So I need you to clean it, and I'll be dining with my father tonight. In case we go hunting this week, I'll need to be ready for that too. I think that's it for now…"

"You want me to sharpen your sword?"

"…Didn't you listen to the rest of the chores I just gave you?"

"Really?"

Merlin was staring at him in undisguised surprise. It looked off with his controlled hair and new way of holding himself; he didn't look like he should ever be surprised that way. Really, the new look made Merlin look very confident. It was strange.

"Yes, you idiot. Just have the chores down by tonight or you'll be mucking out my stables again."

Arthur shook his head in a kind of exasperated confusion and swept out of the room.

Not-Merlin watched him go.

_That Merlin is allowed to handle Arthur's weapons? Oh, that's not fair! _

But after a bit, he decided to let it go and smiled. In this world, he could get his hands of weapons other than the small knife in his clothes and magic. This Arthur liked talking to him, and Gwen was a sweet thing… Was Uther perhaps not paranoid?

This was unheard of! This was _great_!

This world would be _putty_ in his hands! He could probably do whatever he wanted!

As he set about doing his chores with a sinister smile pulling at his lips, doing the most pleasant task – the sword sharpening – first, he wondered to himself, _So what _will_ I do with this Camelot, while I'm on vacation and all? _


	7. It's Not Gaius!

**Well, this chapter was very hard to make myself write, but I did manage it at last. As you can figure, since you're reading it. **

**By the way, if you're the kind of person (like me) who loves spoilers and hasn't seen that clip of 4.02 yet, there's a link on my profile. I'll take it off Saturday. **

**Without further ado…**

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><p>Not-Merlin was feeling a little shaken, honestly.<p>

It wasn't like this wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he rushed to assure himself. It was just… a little surprising. He wasn't sure what he had expected of Uther, exactly, only that he'd had a vague idea of a reasonably happy, calm, confident man. He couldn't have been more off.

Maybe he should have listened to that old codger and his warnings. Perhaps he'd have mentioned that magic wasn't outlawed because the king was scared of his own shadow and anything he didn't understand, like in Not-Merlin's world—but rather because the king was a raging fanatic with a soul of steel and the broken heart of a slightly crazy widower. Yeah. It might have been a useful warning.

Not-Merlin wasn't entirely certain when he'd come to this conclusion. It was around the time when Arthur went to go talk to his father, and somehow something had become Merlin's fault, and the next thing he knew, Merlin had been looking into the gray eyes of a statue named Uther. Not a single shred of the dithering nervousness of the Uther he knew remained in this man. Nope, just a back as straight as a rod and a scar and a scowl.

The king had apparently been having a bad day. _(Unless he's like that all the time…)_ Merlin had been threatened with the stocks and nearly ejected from the room.

It wasn't that this version of Uther scared him, really. He was used to men that wanted to kill him… and women, too. Besides, with a temper like that, this Uther probably was just a little impetuous and a lot less effective for it.

It was just that…

Well, he hadn't been expecting that _at all_.

_Apparently they aren't all smiling simpletons here. Might make wreaking havoc on Camelot… Not-Camelot… whichever… a little difficult. I'll manage, of course. Just more difficult. _

As he was walking through the halls, pondering his new discovery and trying not to let himself get distracted by every slight difference he spotted between this castle and his own Camelot's, he passed Morgana. She was walking straight ahead, her tight silver dress on (he was familiar with that one—it was one of his Morgana's favorites, though it did restrict her movement somewhat) and high heels. Not very practical for carrying out her plans – his plans, whichever – but then thinking these things through was not Morgana's strong point? Well, not his Morgana's, anyway.

Her hair was pulled up firmly, not a hair out of place, making her face look extreme and cold. He never liked that look, that hairdo, and he'd told his own Morgana so time and time again that she should wear her hair down so people would have something lovely to look at.

Without thinking (which made twice in one day!), he turned his head and smiled at her.

She didn't smile back, but her back straightened and her green eyes flashed.

"What do you want, _Merlin_?" she sneered at once, quite defensively, but not without checking around for anyone that might here her first.

He froze. Want? He didn't know. What would that other Merlin want?

"Nothing," he said at once, trying to adopt the cheery, slightly silly tone he'd decided probably belonged to "Merlin." That seemed like a generic, safe answer.

She didn't trust him. He recognized that look on anyone's face, but it felt strange to see it on the face of his lovely and simple-minded but sweet girl.

"Just because you won this time—" she started, and he was instantly lost, as she seemed to jump right into the middle of a conversation.

"What?" he repeated thoughtlessly, and cursed himself. He should have his tongue ripped out for stupidity. He needed to stop talking like an idiot unless he was trying to impersonate that other Merlin.

"Next time," she warned, glaring. "Morgause and I… Next time…" Then, seeming to feel that she'd sufficiently expressed her fury and her threat (and leaving Merlin in the dark), she turned and swept away.

Merlin watched her walk away, her tight skirt shifting with her legs, about as baffled as he could be, though he made a special effort not to show it on the outside.

Morgause? Who in the world was Morgause?

He brushed his hair back a bit and kept walking on his way, not paying any attention to where he was going, his light eyes staring at the wall in concentration.

Morgause… Morgause…

He remembered!

Yes, that petty witch who tried to take Morgana from him and teach her to think for herself—or that's what Morgause had said, anyway. She wanted to deal with the no-magic law herself, and hadn't approved of Merlin's subtle methods of manipulation and protecting. And she'd tried to take Morgana. He couldn't allow that, so he'd killed her. It hadn't taken much to convince Morgana that he'd been saving her—and why should it? After all, it was pretty much true.

So apparently she still lived here, but she didn't seem to like him much. And neither did this Morgana, judging by her icy (and very beautiful, he thought appreciatively) glare.

At least that Merlin had enough backbone to make enemies. Not-Merlin had begun to doubt it.

Not-Merlin shrugged to himself and redirected himself towards home. He didn't want to talk to anyone anymore. He had chaos to plan. He didn't even think about trying to avoid Gaius, since he wasn't sure if the man would be at home or not. As it turned out, though, he was.

Gaius was sitting with his glasses on, peering over some old text and looking like an erudite and old man. No change there then, but when Gaius looked up at Not-Merlin, the younger man realized that this Gaius had something that his Gaius never would: sanity.

"Ah, Merlin!" said this old man without the crazed gleam in his eyes. "How was work?"

He said it like he actually cared. Like he cared… about Merlin.

Not-Merlin smiled, slightly goofy, hoping it passed inspection. If not, he might just have to kill the old man, and chances are the old Merlin wouldn't care for that, and then he'd whisk Merlin away, and then he'd never have a chance to cause chaos and confusion, destruction, mayhem….

"Fine, but I'm exhausted… I'm turning in before Arthur can give me any more work!"

Gaius nodded, accepting this. And as Merlin headed for his own bedroom, up the stairs, he was hit with a sudden uncharacteristic wave of a feeling that, if he articulated it, would be phrased, _"I'd like to be back home right now. Where I'm used to the people."_

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Three days.

Merlin had been here in this hellhole he called Not-Camelot for three days, and it was getting old really quickly. The people were crazy and flopped around, and not one of them (except Morgana, who was beginning to terrify him with that empty gaze) looked at him with anything remotely resembling affection. It was exhausting—he was half-afraid he'd be murdered any second.

He hadn't had to deal with Morgause or Cenred's army while he was here, though. And that was the only plus.

But on the bright side, he'd managed to avoid Gaius for those three days. He wasn't sure exactly what Not-Gaius would be like, but he didn't really want to find out. After all, Old Merlin had been right about Not-Arthur. Merlin _wouldn't_ want to be alone with that nut. (And on the occasions he had been, he could feel those suspicious eyes glued to him, practically tearing him apart, and he hadn't been able to get away fast enough.) Old Merlin was probably right about Not-Gaius too.

Merlin definitely locked his door at night. And barricaded it, too, since that lock looked untrustworthy.

_What's this all-important lesson so that I can start learning it and go home? _he whined in his head, but didn't say anything out loud. He had learned that there was a certain list of rules to being Not-Merlin—don't laugh, don't act surprised, don't smile unless it's a dangerous grin (and he still thought he wasn't getting that one right, so he tried not to do it too often), and don't act too much like you care, and don't say what you're thinking.

Those five things had gotten him this far without anyone crying _"imposter!"_ on him. Hopefully they'd last him his entire stay.

Today, though, his luck seemed to be beginning to run out.

He ran into Gaius.

Since he'd been there, Gaius hadn't been home when he came in at night, and had either been sleeping, absorbed by something, or gone when he left in the morning. Today, when he stepped carefully out of his room, his name was called.

"Merlin!"

He thought a curse and turned to face Gaius. "Gaius."

"Where have you been?" Gaius said. His white hair was frizzier than Merlin had ever seen it, and his eyes were wider. Merlin was starting to distrust wide eyes: Not-Morgana had them.

"Busy," said Merlin, remembering to be short.

"Well, I've got tests to run! Busy? Busy with what? You can plan world domination, later, boy! I've got new poisons to test!"

"…Poisons to test?"

"If I don't test them," babbled the old man in a way so frighteningly un-Gaius that Merlin almost didn't understand him, "then how will I know if they work? Don't worry, I have the antidotes."

In his concern, Merlin said without thinking his words through first, "Do you know they work?"

Not-Gaius cocked his head to the side like a dog, thinking. "I don't know. That's why they're being tested."

Merlin barely had time to gawk at the risk Not-Gaius took with his ward's life (_Why would my mother send me here?_) before the old man went on.

"But don't worry, you always survive, you know. Now, I give you food and board… All I ask is a few minutes of time and a few risks!" he jabbered.

_Old Merlin said he doesn't know about my magic. I bet that's what keeps saving me… but still… __Does Not-Merlin put up with this crazy old man? Why?_

Merlin started to back away, feeling his eyes go wide as all his acting seemed to fail him, but Not-Gaius latched to his arm and began to drag with surprising strength.

Senile, thought Merlin as he looked in Gaius's eyes, would be too mild a word for this man.

And then he had to fight back the rising urge he had to whimper.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Three days!

Not-Morgana's heels clicked against the stone floor of Not-Camelot's castle as she walked down the halls. Three days of this strange behavior.

Well… she thought it was three days. It was a while before she noticed it, so maybe she was wrong… but that wasn't the point. The point was that her Merlin, her man, was acting not like himself, and she didn't like it. It made her sad. It made her want to cry.

For three days, he hadn't come to see her, at night or during the day, alone or in public. He hadn't hugged her without standing stiff as a board, hadn't kissed her (and her breath didn't smell or anything!), hadn't given her any plans to carry out! He hadn't talked to her much at all—almost like he was doing it on purpose! But that couldn't be. Why wouldn't he want to spend time with her?

He loved her, after all.

Of course he wanted to be with her at all times. _So why didn't he want to?_

It was starting to make her angry, actually. When she was angry she wanted to cry.

So she was doing what she could to take matters into her own hands. She was going to go to Arthur. He would be able to tell her what was wrong with her Merlin. Arthur knew a great deal. Arthur was smart.

_Though, _she thought, momentarily pausing in her stride, _maybe I shouldn't call him my Merlin to Arthur… My Merlin doesn't like me to talk about us or our plans in front of Arthur, I think…_

Well, regardless, she would go to Arthur anyway. If Merlin didn't want her asking her brother's advice, then he shouldn't act so… weird!

The thought made her angry, so she had to blink back tears for fear of messing up her makeup.

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><p><strong>AN: I took Not-Morgana a bit far, I think… But hey, it's supposed to be partly funny, so that's okay. Anyway, don't forget to check out that link… And **_**please**_** don't forget to review, or I won't know if my story's awesome or horrible or in between. **


	8. Maybe He's Not Merlin!

**A/N: Hey, I meant to get this up earlier, but you know, it just didn't happen. Life and stuff… so… here you go. **

**I'm excited for the next episode of Merlin! Oh, and today's Bradley James's birthday, apparently, since someone mentioned it… Happy birthday to Mr. James, then! **

**I'm going to try and not put Not- before whoever is the POV. It gets annoying, and I think you'll probably know the difference. But if it gets confusing, I'll go back and fix it. **

**Without further ado…**

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><p>Arthur heard a sound. There was someone at his door, and he knew full well that he wasn't expecting anyone. Still. It might not be an enemy.<p>

So, rather than attacking whoever was behind his door right away, as he would to an enemy, he simply picked up his sword and got ready to drive it through whoever might need a sword through the gullet. "Come in," he announced, holding his sword in a way so as to look prepared but not anxious.

The door opened, and Morgana entered slowly, looking around as though she was slightly nervous. The sword dropped slightly, and Arthur felt in himself the irrational urge to smile. Morgana was perhaps the one person he didn't have to be alarmed around. She was too stupid to hurt him, even if she tried—though he had no doubt she would try if she thought of it. Who didn't want to hurt him?

But Arthur had a bit of a soft spot for Morgana. She was pretty, and not a threat, and beside all of that, she was Gwen's mistress. He had to be nice (ish) to Morgana, for he had learned that Gwen did not look kindly upon people who bothered her inner circle. He'd learned that quite…thoroughly, after Tom's death.

"Morgana," he greeted her.

"Hello," she said, smiling like she did, twisting her hands together in front of her.

"Sit down," he offered (well, ordered), gesturing at a chair next to the table where his sheath was sitting, still empty.

"Uh… yes." She sat. "I came to talk to you. About something." She looked uncomfortable, trying to smile, but the smile kept getting so shaky it fell apart. Her hands were still twisting under the table, he could tell.

His first thought was: _Oh, gods, if she's pregnant… _He'd have to either plan a wedding or a funeral. And really, he'd prefer just to kill the man. But then she'd still be pregnant.

He sat in the chair at the end of the table, shaking that thought away. If she was pregnant, then why would she come to him, of all people? Maybe she wanted protection from Uther. She was just stupid enough to think that she should come to _Arthur _for _protection… _from _Uther. _

"What about?" he asked, slipping his sword back into his sheath but keeping his hand on it. Just in case.

"It's about… Merlin…"

Arthur felt another spark of irritation. If she was carrying Merlin's child, that would make things difficult—Merlin would be hard to kill, very hard.

"I don't know if you've noticed," she said a little nervously, "but recently… Um, recently. He's been…" She stopped to think.

He didn't tell her to go on, just watched her evenly. He was wondering if it would be good or bad if Merlin and Morgana ran off together and got married or something like. It would certainly make things interesting, but he really wouldn't want his manservant touching Morgana. He'd probably have to hunt them down.

"He's been acting really strangely lately."

_Ah, so she's not with child, _he thought first. _She noticed too? _was his second. "Has he?"

"Yes. He's… more… He just seems scared. Is that what I mean?" She was actually asking him, he noticed.

"Scared?" he repeated noncommittally, looking away from her, his mind spinning. Hadn't Merlin been looking nervous lately? Barely. He'd noticed, but not looked into it. But it was not like Merlin to be at all nervous. Ever.

"He's been avoiding me," she said. "He talks about the wrong things."

He did, at that. His words weren't as few and far between as they used to be. Arthur had once observed that Merlin never said anything unimportant, but in the past few days he'd seen otherwise.

"Even my maid has mentioned it," she said.

Gwen. Most people didn't mention her around Arthur, lest he go berserk. Morgana never picked up on the way he tensed when she was mentioned. He pushed his feelings away for the moment.

Arthur stood up with his usual grace. "What do you think?" he asked, beginning to walk around the room a bit. He left his sword on the table, but he had a knife on him.

She looked confused. That adorable little crease appeared between her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think is wrong with Merlin?"

"Oh! I don't know. I thought you might… You know so much more than I do."

_Yes, but that isn't hard. _"Surely you have some ideas? You said he wasn't acting like himself. You mean he's acting like he's sick, like he's perhaps hiding something…" He stopped and thought about it for a moment. "Or maybe like he's _not_ himself?"

She tilted her head to the side. "He's Merlin. He's himself. I think."

"You said he wasn't acting like that, though. Do you think he's an imposter?" he pushed, for an idea had suddenly occurred to him, and frankly, it was brilliant.

She gasped. "He looks like Merlin, though!" She thought. "But with shorter hair. And… well, his eyes are different. He moves differently, but I mean, other than that…" She was bewildered, as usual. "I think he looks like Merlin."

"When did he begin acting differently?" he said, though he knew what her answer would be.

"Um… that day when Leon brought him back to Camelot. I think. Is that right?" She looked desperate for approval, so Arthur conceded to give her a nod, and she sighed in relief, that little crease smoothing.

"If he left, how do we know it's actually Merlin that came back?"

"You think someone took my M—" she stopped, stumbling over the word, and forced out, "um, took Merlin's place?"

Arthur pretended not to hear that little slip. "It's possible."

"What would they have done to the real Merlin?" she asked, still totally confused.

"I don't know," he said. "That's the first question I'll have to ask the imposter." He reached for his sword belt.

"Are you going to arrest the imposter and get Merlin back?" she said, eyes wide and trusting. He wondered, as usual, at how easy it was to get her to believe anything.

"Yes," he told her. "Yes, I am. I'll arrest the sorcerer."

She gasped. "The imposter is a sorcerer?"

It was like she'd forgotten that she too had magic – a tidbit of information about her that Arthur was saving in case he needed it for blackmail someday.

"Yes," he told her, figuring she'd believe it anyway. He'd been looking for an excuse to arrest Merlin forever, or so it seemed. Without a real accusation, he would have risked Merlin's revenge upon him. But this way, if he did it right, Merlin would be dead. Dead men didn't take revenge.

He smiled comfortingly at Morgana, thanking heaven that she existed.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Meanwhile, in the other Camelot, Merlin had decided what he was going to do. His vacation was going to be all about causing chaos, so he was going to cause some chaos. He was going to kill Arthur.

Well, he was going to see if he _could_ kill Arthur. That Not-Old-Merlin or whatever he was called would probably stop him if he found out, and since the old man would be more powerful, Merlin might not be able to finish killing the prince. But that was the excitement in the thing! He'd always wanted to kill Arthur. He just couldn't kill his own, because he needed that man. This one he did not need, and he was frankly excited at the thought of getting rid of anyone who carried Arthur's face, even if this face had less stringy hair and was less graceful.

Besides, even if he failed, perhaps Old Merlin would get annoyed at him and send him home. He missed Morgana, though he wouldn't have admitted it if his fingernails were being pulled out.

This would be fun.

Usually, of course, he frowned upon doing things just for the sake of doing them (even his being with Morgana had a purpose), but that was the point of a vacation, wasn't it? To do things for the sake of doing them. For fun. He smiled that dangerous grin, and a servant who happened to be coming down the hall toward him veered off his course.

It wouldn't take much, he figured. Wait until night – for dramatic effect – then walk into Arthur's room (using the keys that Merlin had found in the other Merlin's room), wake up the prince, and kill him. It wasn't much of a challenge, sadly, but afterwards he would have to disappear until Old Merlin decided that other Merlin had learned his lesson, and running from an angry, heartbroken Uther would be enough of a challenge for him.

Fun.

He entered the prince's room, carrying a tray of food. "Hungry, Sire?" he asked, setting it down.

The prince glared at him in his usual grumpy way, with an air that Merlin thought very prattish – and the word fit perfectly, really. "You're late," he said.

Yes, definitely fun.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin never had come by and gotten that shirt, Gwen thought to herself. He'd never forgotten anything like that before. He was acting rather strange lately, though, she noted, watching him as he walked down the hall. Though he wasn't exactly walking… She would more describe it as striding.

It made her nervous, for some reason.

When Gwen was a child, a man had stopped her near her house and started talking to her. She'd gotten nervous, a feeling of twisting in her stomach, but she didn't know why. The man just gave off some kind of aura that scared her.

Her father had come out of the house the minute he saw her and pushed her behind him, calling for guards. The man had fled, and she had forgotten about the incident until years later when it occurred to her what that might have been all about.

That wasn't the only time she'd felt that nervous feeling—any sort of perceived danger inspired it in her.

So why would she feel it around Merlin? Merlin never hurt anyone. She knew that for sure, as well as she knew her name was Guinevere and that she was the daughter of a blacksmith. He would never be a danger to her.

_His hair is longer, _she thought suddenly, stopping in the hall as he stopped at Arthur's door. Why was his hair longer?

He gave the door to Arthur's room a bit of a glare before he went in, and Gwen felt the nervousness spike.

She was being ridiculous. Of course she was. The feeling would pass soon; perhaps she was just a little sick and should see Gaius. Perhaps _Merlin_ was just a little sick and should see Gaius.

She had no reason to be afraid of her friend. Especially not afraid for Arthur.

But she was.

She kept walking down the hall, shaking her head and slightly embarrassed at herself.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, this one was a bit more serious… Actually, the rest of the story should lean a bit more towards seriousness. Though the Nots still amuse **_**me**_**, at least. This chapter was also a bit shorter, sorry. **

**Thanks for reading, please do review! **


	9. I'm Not a Traitor

**Thanks to those who reviewed. This story shouldn't go on for too much longer, if I'm correct. Oh, by the way, if you HAVEN'T figured it out, yes, this is set in season 3. Shorter chapter this time…**

**Without further ado…**

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><p>Merlin (from the world where Gwen didn't swear like a sailor) tried to remember when he'd first started to hobble. Perhaps it was ten years ago, perhaps twenty. He was rather fond of it. Hobbling made him look older, and that was usually an advantage; he either came across as wise or foolish, and he could make either respect or underestimation work in his favor.<p>

That being said, it still ached. He could do without the aching, just keep the hobbling.

He was walking down the dark streets of Camelot, making his way towards Gwen's house. Such a poor house, compared to what she moved on to, but he had fond memories of it—memories of Gwen sitting by her bed, sewing, talking to him and laughing and dreaming about Arthur. He could find the way there in his sleep, even after all these years. He wished he was coming for a pleasant chat.

_Really, _he thought suddenly, _he could have warned me about this part. _Old Merlin wouldn't have known what Not-Merlin was up to at all if he hadn't had that awkward conversation with Gwen about sixty years ago. _I suppose he – I – forgot. Doddery old man, wasn't he – I? _

Gwen's house loomed above him. In the dark, he looked up at the moon, trying to judge what time it was. He couldn't tell, so he shrugged to himself and knocked on Guinevere's door.

No answer.

He banged on the door, and heard a faint mumbling from inside.

Old Merlin sighed and just went in. The door was latched, but a second of glowing eyes fixed that. He was too old to be polite anyway.

Gwen was lying in her bed, but no longer sleeping. When she heard the door, she leapt to her feet and reached for the heaviest object she could get her hands on—a cooking pot. Merlin didn't want that used against him.

Spinning, she faced off the intruder. Apparently she had learned something in the past few years from all the times she'd been attacked.

Merlin held up his hands to show he held no weapons.

"_You!"_ Gwen cried, her pretty dark eyes narrowing. Merlin smiled to himself. Ah, a young Guinevere. It had been so long.

"Me," he agreed.

"You're the one who got me arrested with that poultice! Dra… Drag-Dragoon!" She nodded, satisfied that she'd gotten his name correct. "How did you get here?"

"That's not really important," he said.

"Yes, it is," she disagreed.

"That's not the point!"

"What _is_ the point?" she asked, now slightly bewildered. She didn't lower the pot.

"The point is, if you want to save your prince's life, you'll take that pot and run to him as fast as you can," he said, getting straight to the point.

"Wha…? What have you done to him?" She lifted the pot higher, looking very ready to smash it down over his elderly head.

Merlin tried not to wince. "I haven't done anything. I'm trying to help you. But if you'd rather him get killed, by all means, stick around and keep arguing with me!"

A pause.

Gwen blinked.

Merlin stared at her.

One more second and Gwen decided what her priorities were. Without bothering to grab her cloak or anything to go over her thin shift, she took her pot and ran right out the door, past Merlin.

He waited about a minute and followed.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Gwen wasn't quite sure why she was listening to an old man who'd nearly got her killed. She didn't know why he didn't inspire that fear of danger in her middle. All she knew was that her beloved was in danger.

And if showing up with a pot in hand would help him, then that's what she would do.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin didn't make a sound. Merlin never made a sound. He was just outside the prince's door now.

It would be so easy. He would slip in, let the prince know what was going on, kill him, slip out.

There weren't even any guards outside his door.

My _Arthur would never be so negligent, _Merlin thought with contempt. Really, why wasn't this man dead already?

And then the door wasn't locked! This almost wasn't fun.

Merlin walked in. Arthur was slumbering in his bed, his blankets covering him like some kind of mound. Well, that could be fixed.

Merlin lifted a hand. His eyes flashed. He'd long since learned to speak his spells mentally, in order to keep from being executed by a screaming, panicking Uther.

"_Hey!" _Arthur was awake instantly. But then, having your blankets magically ripped away and being thrown to the floor tended to have that effect on people. The prince looked up with wide eyes. "Merlin, what's going—?"

The words died in his throat when Merlin's eyes flashed again, and the prince was suddenly violently yanked against the side of the bed and held there. He made a strangled noise that was probably a curse.

"Hello, Arthur," said Merlin, smiling his signature smile.

Arthur's first thought made no sense. _His hair has definitely changed in some way. _His second was a curse rather similar to the one Not-Gwen had used to describe his Not-self. His third thought was finally relevant.

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?" _Yeah, that was about right.

Merlin smirked; his eyes flashed gold, and Arthur's sword drifted away from his bed and towards Merlin's waiting hand. "I polished this sword," he said. "It's a fine sword."

"You're a sorcerer?" Arthur was still gaping. Poor fellow would probably die with that idiotic expression on his face—but no, then his eyes went tight and small in fury.

"Yes," said Merlin. "Yes, I am. I bet you never thought you'd die by this blade, did you?"

Arthur tried to yank away from his invisible bonds. Merlin reinforced the spell and he had no luck.

Suddenly, the door swung upon, and a woman gasped and yelled, "Arthur!" And then, before Merlin could finish turning around, she threw something in the direction of the as-of-yet unidentified attacker.

Something smashed into Merlin's head and shattered. And, he noted as he sank to a sitting position among shards of some sort of cutlery, it really, really hurt.

Gwen was standing above him, staring, crying, "_Merlin?_What…?" Then Arthur was standing as fast as he could and rushing to her side, pulling her away from the sorcerer.

"Guards!" he yelled out towards the open door, pushing Gwen behind him and out of Merlin's line of sight. Merlin looked dazedly up at the shirtless prince, then towards the open door, and just for a second he could have sworn he saw that Old Merlin grinning at him.

_Okay, maybe it's not so easy. It was worth a try._

He began to laugh, dry, brittle, slightly hysterical cackles. And then he passed out.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin was minding his own business in the other Camelot, trying to avoid everyone. He didn't want to see Arthur, lest he have to suffer through another suspicious glare. He didn't want to meet up with Gwen, who obviously considered Not-Merlin a friend and would seek him out, because he didn't want to have to bite his tongue for an hour to keep from ordering her to wash out her mouth. He didn't want to run into Gaius, because then he might spend the next twelve hours in a coma again. And, more than anyone else, he wanted to avoid Morgana, because a meeting with Morgana would involve that shudder-inducing stupid stare, a suggestion that they kiss, and at least one suggestive comment.

He really didn't need any of that. What he needed was to either go home or to punch a certain old man in the face for bringing him here.

He slunk down a hallway, hoping no one who saw him would know him.

"Stop!" came the order from behind.

_Blast. _

He turned around, trying to look confident, the way he imagined that other Merlin did. Three guards were coming towards him. Arthur was behind them.

"There you are," said Arthur. "You're under arrest."

"I'm what?"

"Under arrest. You've been accused of being an imposter, quite possibly a traitor and a sorcerer."

"Says who?" was the first thing he could think to say, slightly insulted. He was not a traitor. He didn't think. Actually, here, who knew?

"Myself and the Lady Morgana," said Arthur, raising an eyebrow and flourishing his cape. "You'll be tried, and if found guilty, you will be executed."

Merlin let that sink in as his arms were grabbed by the soldiers and held up at his sides in a position that really hurt. He was in trouble. And apparently he was a bad actor.

Arthur leaned close. "And trust me, you'll be found guilty." He looked to the guards. "Take him to the magic-repressing cell. We don't want to take chances."

_They have a magic-repressing cell? We don't have one of those!_

The guards pulled him along, and Merlin was forced to move towards the dungeons. His eyes lighted on Arthur for a second, and the evil smirk on the face that looked so much like the Arthur he knew was actually quite alarming.

Yes, he was in deep trouble.


	10. This is Not a Joke

**Without any ado…**

* * *

><p>Merlin wasn't sure what that whole magic-repression cell thing was about, but he had a feeling he didn't want to find out personally whether or not it actually worked. He waited for Arthur to walk away, first, because if push came to shove, he might have to use magic. And no matter which Arthur he was facing, he didn't want to have to reveal himself to the prince.<p>

And he had a feeling the other Merlin might not to be too crazy about the idea either.

The guards had him halfway to the dungeons before he decided it was safe enough to fight back.

Stopping suddenly, he threw himself backwards, against their forward motion. The guards jerked in surprise and tried to fix their grip, but Merlin twisted his arms and pulled, managing to slip from their grasp. He knew he only had seconds before they grabbed him again, so, with only a small pang of remorse, he threw out a hand to bespell them into next week—perhaps literally.

They grabbed their swords, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say a single word, something hit him. A pain, not as sharp as it should have been, splintered through the back of his head and neck.

Ouch, he thought, and crumpled, the world going black.

Behind him, the prince sheathed his sword, rubbing the hilt gingerly to see if he'd damaged it on Merlin's head. "I had a feeling he'd try something," said Arthur, smiling proudly.

And as the guards leaned over to collect the boy's unconscious body, Arthur said in as conspiratorial a tone as he ever used, "I've been wanting to do that _forever_."

The guards were not amused, because guards lacked senses of humor. They simply looked to Arthur for instruction.

"Take him to the cell," commanded the prince.

When Merlin awoke, he'd discover that the cell worked quite well indeed.

Smiling, Arthur turned to walk off and go spend the rest of the day as he saw fit. He'd talk to his father, get some paperwork done, and perhaps later see if he could corner Guinevere… Today was a very good day indeed!

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"They didn't even chain me up," the other Merlin griped as he paced the cell. "It's an insult!"

"It's the way they do things," said Old Merlin, who'd popped by for a short visit. Quite literally. He was now on the inside of the cell with the other Merlin, leaning against the bars comfortably as if this place was his second home.

"They're imbecilic."

"So are you, if you think you can kill my charge that easily." Old Merlin said with a glare.

"It was worth a try," Merlin defended himself with a wry smile.

"I think they reserve this cell especially for me—you—him, that is, I suppose." Old Merlin studied the straw-strewn floor with real affection. "The first night I spent it in here was the first day I came to Camelot."

Merlin ignored that comment quite expertly. "But don't they know that any sorcerer could break out of here easily?"

"You haven't," said Old Merlin with a sort of smirk that reminded Merlin of this world's Morgana, but more mischievous. But then, he'd seen her smirk eighty-seven times since he came here (he'd counted, yes), and _any_ kind of smirk reminded him of her. She'd really ruined the facial expression for him; he could never use it again.

"That's because you're using your magic to stop me, old man," growled the younger man.

"I really don't think I'm doing that at all," said Old Merlin, smiling serenely. "Perhaps you are imagining it."

"I'm not."

"Are you sure?"

"Rather," replied Merlin coldly, unwilling to get into a fight with an eighty-year-old—and absolutely refusing to lose his temper with one. Sure, an eighty-year-old that was more powerful than he was… But then, considering this man was like a mirror reflection of Merlin with sixty years more of studying and training, it made sense.

"Interesting," chuckled Old Merlin. "Well, it's a rather good idea, isn't it? Would keep you from breaking out and going after the prince."

"Or escaping. I hope you aren't trying to get me killed. You wouldn't be the first, but as you can see, I'm still here."

"Yes, I'm sure. No, I'm not trying to get you killed, boy. If I were you, though, which in a way…" Here he stopped to chortle. "In a way, I am… I would stop trying to escape and focus my magic on healing that gash on the side of my head from Gwen's pot."

Merlin lifted a hand to the sticky mess. "She has good aim in both worlds."

"She's not someone you want angry with you, in my opinion." Old Merlin smiled reminiscently. "I remember her being rather feisty when it came to Arthur."

Merlin said nothing. He'd never cared for feisty women. His mother was feisty, and he'd never really liked her. His own Gwen was alright, but Morgana hadn't a "feisty" bone in her rather airheaded body. She didn't argue much either. Sometimes he thought he really loved that woman.

"Well," said Old Merlin, "if you'll excuse me."

"Where are you going?" asked Merlin suspiciously, sitting with grace down upon the floor of the cell and looking up through his hair at Old Merlin.

"To teach the prince and my younger self a lesson," said Old Merlin. "I'm sure about now your counterpart is ready to murder me for leaving him in that world so long."

_He's the lucky one, _thought Merlin, to his own surprise.

Out loud he said, "So you're just going to leave me here, then?"

"Don't worry," said Old Merlin. "You're not going to get killed. I just can't let you escape. I'll be back soon!"

And with that, his eyes flashed gold and he was gone. _BANG!_

The first thing Merlin did was check to see if the old man's magic was still wrapped around the walls, keeping him inside. It was.

Then he slumped back and sighed. _Crazy old codger. _

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur and Gwen hadn't said anything for a while after they watched Merlin taken away by the guards. There hadn't been much to say, really.

Eventually she'd gone and cleaned up the shattered pot pieces.

"I'll buy you a new one," Arthur told her. "Since that one may have saved my life."

Usually she'd turn that down, but she needed to cook to eat. "Thank you." She studied the shards. "I hope it didn't pierce his head."

There was a moment of awkward silence while Arthur nodded in a sort of half agreement and they both realized what a very silly thing to say that had been.

"Maybe he's enchanted," she suggested.

Arthur shrugged. "I've never seen an enchantment that allowed the person under the spell to use magic."

"Me neither. I'm not sure that's possible."

"I don't think it is," he told her, and they lapsed into silence again.

She disposed of the shards. He sat on his bed, staring around the room as though lost, and after a moment she sat next to him and patted his arm. She shivered when she got cold (for she realized that she was only in the thin shift she used for nightclothes), and decided it was probably time for her to go home. But before she could move, Arthur jumped up to offer her a large shirt that had never fit him to put over her night clothes.

"I could just go—" she started to say, but then looked at his eyes and realized that he didn't want her to leave. So she accepted the shirt.

He sat down beside her again, still without a shirt—while she had two. The thought made her want to giggle.

"I wonder how he managed to hide so long," Arthur wondered out loud.

And then the worst thought of the night hit Gwen. "Oh, Arthur, what will we tell Gaius?"

And after that, they realized there was nothing more to be said on the nasty subject, and so she went to her own house so they could both be by themselves while they recovered from the shock of _Merlin just used magic and tried to kill Arthur. _

It was a short while later, when Arthur had gotten back into bed and was moving past his shock, into wondering what they would do with Merlin now that he'd been arrested, and thinking that he should probably talk to Merlin to find out what the hell that had been about. As he lay there, thinking, there was a _BANG_, and Arthur knew someone else was in the room.

Perhaps he should have been startled. Perhaps he should have grabbed his sword and yelled for guards again. Perhaps he should have attacked, or hollered. But his best friend and servant had just attacked him with magic, and he was feeling rather curiously uncaring about everything else at the moment. So he simply sat up, looked into the darkness, and focused on the figure.

The figure was currently using magic to light the candles of the room, lightening everything.

"You," said Arthur, wondering why he wasn't surprised.

"Me," agreed the man happily. "Dragoon the Great, to you, I believe."

"What do you want?"

The old man shrugged. "To teach you a lesson. You and your servant, Merlin."

Arthur was too tired for sorcerers. He had a distant feeling that he should be calling the guards on this man. He felt tired. Didn't Gaius say people felt tired when they were in shock? Or had Gaius never said that?

"It's not really a good time for that," said Arthur, slipping out of bed and reaching for his shirt. It didn't look like he was sleeping much tonight. But he left his feet bare. "In case you missed it, my servant just tried to kill me and he's currently locked up."

"That isn't your servant," Dragoon said, and Arthur felt the tiniest bit of hope stirring in his heart.

"What do you mean?"

"The man in the dungeons is not the Merlin you know."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Where is Merlin?"

"He's not here," answered Dragoon, smiling, and Arthur had the impulse to hit him, but that just wasn't very princely, so he restrained himself.

"I can see that. I want to know where he is." He tilted his head to the side for a moment and reached for his sword. "What did you do to him?" Perhaps they wouldn't have to tell Gaius anything at all.

"I moved him a bit," said Dragoon. "Almost like a vacation."

Arthur's sword was now in his hand and pointed in the man's general direction. "I'm not joking," he said. The man ignored the sword, but stayed back.

"That's well, because this is not really a joke," Dragoon suddenly sounded grave. "I'm afraid you and Merlin both have a bit of a lesson to learn—he about you, and you about… How you treat your servants." He smiled at that wording. Arthur missed what was so funny. "Though perhaps," said Dragoon, "you've learned your lesson."

Arthur was confused all over again.

"I don't see what nearly being killed is good for if it doesn't teach you anything," Dragoon added. "So, are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"To go to Merlin, didn't we cover that? Your Merlin that is. Not that he's strictly yours of course, but it's easier to think of them that way. It gets confusing otherwise."

"I don't understand."

"I'll explain a bit more when we get there."

"Where?" Arthur snapped. "Where is it you want to take me? You're a sorcerer, so what do you want with me?"

Dragoon looked very old and very doddery for a moment. "I want to take you to rescue your servant. He's not going to be able to escape without you."

"Where is he?"

"I told you, I'll explain when we get there."

Arthur glared suspiciously, and Old Merlin thought that if he kept that up, he might actually pass for the other prince. "Are you trying to trick me?" asked Arthur.

"No," said Dragoon. "What reason would I have to lie?"

"I don't know yet."

"I just want to help you get to your servant."

"But why?"

Dragoon sighed, his white beard shifting as he did so. "Because I like the Merlin boy, alright? I'll leave you alone as soon as you do it."

He held out an old, wrinkly hand to shake. Arthur's sword lowered as he looked at the hand and thought about it.

_I shouldn't, _he thought. _But if he can lead me to a Merlin that won't pin me with magic and talk like a madman about trying to kill me, then I will do it anyway._

And he shook the old man's hand.

_BANG!_

And before Arthur could pull away from the old man's clutching hand, the whole world disappeared.


	11. Arthur's in Not Camelot

**A/N: Since I'm most likely going to disappear for November (though I want to still update _Restrictions and Reprimands_ weekly), I'm probably only going to get you one or two chapters during November… if that many. Sorry. I wanted to finish before this, but I don't think it's going to happen. But I can try. **

**And I realize it's short, but I'm going to try to update a few times this week, which means the chapters have to be shorter. **

**Now, ladies and gentleman, without further ado, my story.**

* * *

><p>When the world reappeared, Arthur staggered backwards away from the sorcerer as fast as he could.<p>

"What…?" he gasped. "What did you do?"

"Transportation," responded Dragoon easily. "It's a little disorienting, I know. Your Merlin was a little shocked too. I might want to start warning people that it's going to happen."

Arthur distantly wished that this man would stop calling him "your Merlin," as though Merlin was his private property. He found it demeaning for Merlin, though Merlin wasn't there, and the only person allowed to make Merlin feel inferior was Arthur. But Arthur didn't argue the point, because he had more on his mind.

"You took Merlin away? But Merlin's in the dungeons of Camelot…" Arthur looked around. "We're still in Camelot."

"You haven't been listening. That isn't the Merlin you know. It's another Merlin. And we're not exactly in Camelot." Dragoon wiped his hands down his robes as though to smooth them.

Arthur looked around the green hill, with the castle in the background and the road under his feet. "It's Camelot."

"It's not. Let me explain."

"You do that." Arthur looked up, his eyebrows drawing together, but from the smile on Dragoon's face, he knew he wasn't going to like this explanation.

"We're in Not-Camelot."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin rocked back from the bars of his cell. Yes, this cell worked fine at repressing magic. He didn't have magic at a single thought, at a single word. His magic wasn't at his disposal, as though it had briefly left his body and sat right outside the bars to his cell, mocking him.

Or perhaps trying to get in. Depending on what kind of mood it was in, and whether magic actually had moods. He thought it was a safe bet that it didn't.

_Okay, now I'm not making any sense. I should stop thinking._

But he didn't have anything else to do. He was stuck in a cell that he didn't know how to escape from, in a Camelot he didn't know well, and frankly, it was worrying him. He didn't want to die so far from home.

And if Not-Hunith was anything like the rest of them, he didn't think the chances of her stopping by to tell her son goodbye were good.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur was feeling quite satisfied with himself as he walked down the halls of his castle. And he thought he had a right to. After all, it wasn't every day that he got a potential threat and dreadful annoyance arrested. He would feel a little safer with Merlin gone, that was for sure.

Though Morgana would probably cry.

_Oh, gods. _Any kind of weeping female was pretty bad, but there was nothing worse than Morgana when she decided to impersonate a fountain. There might be no stopping her.

He would have to convince her that they'd get the "real" Merlin back somehow, and not to worry about this one. If he could keep her away from the execution, that would help things along amazingly. Usually Arthur didn't believe in mollycoddling anyone, but Morgana was an exception.

He swished his cape happily.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Turning his head swiftly, his suspicions were confirmed—Gwen.

A smile pushed at his mouth, and he changed direction at once, catching up to the servant quickly. She was walking away from him, her hands full of clothes for Morgana. He took in the sight of her, though he knew it as well as he knew the man in his mirror: her form-fitting and yet rather modest dress, with the collar near the throat, her lovely hair pulled up with only a few curls twirling down her neck and cheek. Her flashing brown eyes and wistful smile that she rarely, if ever, showed him.

"Guinevere," he greeted her.

She cast him one disgusted look from the corner of her eye and kept moving silently.

Well, he wasn't accepting that. He grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "I wanted to talk to you," he said smoothly.

"No," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"You haven't even heard me out yet."

"I have no need to. You always ask the same sort of things. And my answer is always the same; is it really so hard to understand?"

He leaned against the wall, still holding her arm. "If the answer isn't yes, then it's very hard to accept indeed."

"Alright," she said with a sigh, finally pulling back her arm. Her eyes were a flashing brown, and he felt his breath speeding up. "Let me say it again: I want you to. Go. To. Hell."

Arthur's heartbeat sped up. When she spoke like that, desire nearly drove him through the roof. "A _maybe_, then?"

She rolled her eyes and turned away. He watched her go, sighing. She would come around eventually. Until then he'd enjoy getting to watch her spout fire.

Gwen turned away from Arthur, setting a very determined gait towards Morgana's room. Would that man never take a hint? Did she need to hit him over the head with something? No, then he would probably just arrest her for assaulting the prince… Or worse, blackmail her for not arresting her. She would have to content herself with verbal abuse.

She walked, keeping her stride strong, until she'd left him far behind—or so she thought.

Because then she looked up, and to her shock, Arthur was standing right in front of her. Had she been paying attention, she might have noticed that this Arthur had shorter hair and wasn't wearing a swishy cape. But she was too annoyed that he had followed her this far to pay much attention.

"What are you doing?" she snapped. "I have work to do—harass me later."

"Um… sorry?" Arthur was staring at her in stupid shock.

"How many times do I need to tell you to leave me alone?" she asked, and then brushed past him, muttering a profanity to herself. He would never learn.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

For perhaps a minute after Gwen brushed past him, Arthur stood and stared after her with his mouth slightly ajar. Sure, Dragoon had warned him that they were all different here, but… But… He hadn't actually just heard _Guinevere_ use _that_ word, had he?

Yes, he had. And it was _Not_-Guinevere. So that settled it. Dragoon was telling the truth.

Shaking himself, he tried to push it out of his mind. He wasn't here to deal with that. He was here to get down to the dungeons, hope his key worked for the locks here, and get Merlin out of their dungeons. And then escape.

And somehow get back home from there.

He wasn't really clear on that part of the plan. Well, actually, he had absolutely no earthly idea what he was going to do after he got Merlin out.

But that was okay. He wasn't even sure if he'd make it to that part of the plan anyway.

It would be easier if he had Dragoon there to help, but the old man had insisted that he had to get back to Camelot to keep Not-Merlin from getting executed. Apparently, assassination attempts aside, it wasn't good manners to let Merlin, who was a sort of guest in Camelot, get killed away from home. That didn't make much sense to Arthur, but then the old man was crazy anyway.

Arthur pushed on and kept walking down the hall, hoping that he wouldn't run into anyone that would ask any awkward questions. And especially hoping that he wouldn't run into Not-Arthur. Though meeting someone with his (very fine, in his own opinion) face would be interesting, from Dragoon's description, he didn't want to meet the man behind the face.


	12. It's an Escape

**A/N: I may not have replied to your reviews, and sorry if I haven't. I'll try to next time. I do not care for this chapter. Plus, it's even shorter. But please tell me what you think. **

**I'll try to make the next one longer. **

**Without further ado…**

* * *

><p>It wasn't like Merlin had given up or anything, though he looked it, sitting in the corner of the cell with his head in his hands. He was just… brain-storming.<p>

Right now it was looking more like a drizzle.

He had absolutely nothing. How did normal non-magic people break out of cells? _Well_, he answered himself, _they get a key. Where will I get a key? _

He didn't think he could talk the guards into it. From what he could see, they weren't very friendly. Not that they were very friendly in his own Camelot (by definition, guards seemed to be pretty unfriendly), but they were especially unpleasant here. He had the aching head to prove it.

Merlin had just begun to think that he had run out of options, and was sinking down onto the floor, when Arthur arrived.

The echo of footsteps echoed sharply down the hall, and Merlin heard low voices as the guards down the way a bit conversed with somebody. Then, abruptly, the voices stopped. More footsteps. And then someone was right outside his cell.

Curious, Merlin picked his head up and looked out the bars.

"What do you want now?" he asked. Looking Arthur up and down once, he noticed that the prince's shirt was slightly wrinkled, as though he'd worn it yesterday, too. And there was something off about his shoes. Also, he had no cape. He looked slightly disheveled.

Merlin didn't care.

"I'm here to get you out," responded Arthur, and he sounded so much like Merlin's friend that the warlock was confused.

"Is this a trick?" asked Merlin.

"I'm the Arthur from the other Camelot," the blond man hissed through the bars, but Merlin wasn't convinced. He got up onto his knees, giving Arthur that suspicious, searching look that he'd perfected during his stay in Not-Camelot.

"What do you mean, other Camelot?"

"Don't play dumb, _Mer_lin. You do it well enough without trying—there's no need to enhance the effect."

Merlin's eyebrows went up. That was Arthur. The large vocabulary only used for insulting or teasing, the emphasis on "Mer" instead of "lin"… That was without a doubt his own prattish friend; it couldn't be faked.

"How did you get here?" Merlin gasped, getting to his feet and coming to the door. Arthur was digging around his belt for the right key.

"That crazy old sorcerer – Dragoon – brought me. Something about a lesson."

Merlin rolled his eyes in understanding. Arthur found the right key.

"He said you were stuck here, and that I needed to get you out. To be honest, I'm glad you're here… That Merlin back home, Not-Merlin or whatever he's called, tried to kill me." He inserted the key into the lock and turned it.

"He tried to _what_?"

"Kill. End. Assassinate. Get rid of."

"I know what it means, Arthur." Merlin attempted to roll his eyes without removing his gaze from the almost open lock. "What happened?"

"Well, he was arrested," Arthur said. Just like Merlin to ask stupid questions when there were more pressing matters at hand. "Only Gwen knows what happened, though. She came in, and we didn't tell anyone… We were saving it for the morning. Then that night Dragoon showed up, said he knew where you were, and dragged me along without warning… At least he brought me my boots. I'd arrest him, of course," Arthur clarified, mistaking the look on Merlin's face for shock at this law breaking, "but I think we need him to get home. Assuming he lets us go home." The door swung open, and Merlin stepped out.

"So I came down here and told the guards to leave. It's a good thing I look like the other Arthur…" Arthur looked around as though fearing that someone might be around. "But I don't think I act much like him; everyone keeps looking at me really strangely."

"You act nothing like him," Merlin assured him. "He's above and beyond _prat_."

Arthur nodded his thanks, though he wasn't sure if that comment deserved it. "The guards will be back soon; we need to leave."

"Where are we going? What's the plan?" asked Merlin, who was trying to drink in the feeling of having his magic back, the sight of an Arthur who didn't want to murder him, and the fact that he was free all at the same time. It made him giddy.

Arthur was silent for a moment.

"You don't have a plan?"

"Not as such. We just… leave," Arthur said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Merlin nodded. Something told him that was not the best of ideas, but hey, it was the only one they had. Hopefully Old Merlin would pop up and give them some assistance.

Unless this was the lesson. It could be. What would be the moral, though? _It's hard to come up with a plan in a world that is the opposite of your own. _He doubted it.

"Alright," he told Arthur. "Let's go." As they headed out of the dungeon, Merlin passed a window, and he realized that morning was breaking. He'd spent the night in jail. Again. And now he was escaping. Again.

They were on the front steps of the castle, just about to leave, when the alarm bells began ringing.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

In the other, pleasanter – by their standards – Camelot, Merlin just had enough time to get used to the cell. It wasn't too bad, really, compared to the ones in his Camelot. This one even had a window—it was a nice cell.

But then he had to leave it in the middle of the night.

For just as he was dropping off to sleep, there was a sharp sound that nearly made him jump (but he didn't, because he didn't get startled), and Old Merlin or Old Not Merlin or whoever the heck he was stood before him.

"Come on," said Old Merlin. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" grumbled Merlin a bit sleepily.

"We're escaping."

"To where?"

"Just… out. You ask too many questions!" Old Merlin smiled. "We're just leaving so that you don't get yourself executed, and then once Merlin – not you, the other one – learns his lesson, I can bring you back to your own Camelot."

Finally Merlin sat up, refusing to be enthusiastic. He looked at the window. "Why are we leaving in the middle of the night when I could be sleeping?"

"Because," Old Merlin replied promptly, crossing his arms, "don't you want to imagine their faces when Camelot wakes up to see that the prince is gone from his room, and you're gone from your still-locked cell, with no one knowing what happened, and only Gwen even able to guess?"

There was a moment of silence while that was mulled over.

And then Merlin got to his feet. "All right," he said agreeably enough. "I'm ready to go, then."


	13. It's Not Such a Great Escape

**Without any ado…**

* * *

><p>Merlin and Old Merlin appeared out in the forest. The younger part of the duo looked around and asked, "Which Camelot are we in?"<p>

"Still my old one."

Merlin sighed and tried not to be disappointed. He missed home. His vacation was becoming gradually less and less enjoyable.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"Waiting."

Merlin could do that. He was good at waiting. But after a moment of looking around at the green lively trees, he finally felt his curiosity get the better of him. "Who are we waiting for?"

"The other Merlin."

"Is he around here?"

"No."

"Okay." That didn't do much in the way of answering his questions, but the old man was obviously enjoying the suspense.

So Merlin shrugged.

And they waited.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

The alarm bells. Merlin would never understand them. He would never understand how people managed to start ringing them so quickly, or how the minute they started ringing every single person in Camelot seemed to know exactly who was being searched for.

Maybe they didn't. Maybe they just guessed who was supposed to be found, and arrested them. Maybe it was apparent in the guilty party's eyes. Maybe they asked someone who knew. Maybe everyone just always assumed it was Merlin that was in trouble.

Whatever it was, about ten seconds after the bells began ringing, Arthur and Merlin were already being rushed by men in Camelot red.

Merlin tripped down the stairs, trying to keep upright, with Arthur right at his heels.

The guards – there were about five of them now, but Merlin knew more were coming – stopped momentarily and seemed confused upon seeing their prince in front of them.

Arthur drew himself up as tall as he could, glaring at the men and opening his mouth to order them to stop… But then Not-Arthur was standing at the top of the stairs in all his swishy-caped glory and declaring them, "Imposters! Don't let them escape!"

Arthur muttered a word that Merlin had grown used to hearing from Not-Gwen, grabbed Merlin's arm, and they ran. As they went, Merlin spotted Morgana standing on the stairs, a look of complete confusion on her lovely face. Merlin suppressed a shudder.

Not-Leon was suddenly there, coming in from the side and attempting to slice Arthur's head from his shoulders, but Arthur released Merlin and drew his sword from his side, blocking the blow. Leon staggered back, but came in for another blow. Arthur was hesitant to hurt the man he recognized, but the guards were fast-gaining, along with Not-Arthur. So he swung slightly wildly and felt his sword connect with the flesh of Leon's arm.

Leon howled and dropped back, and Merlin pushed past him and kept running. They had to make it to the trees. If they could, they could lose the guards.

The guards were slower, starting to fall behind, but Not-Arthur was faster, just a red blur shooting after them with great speed.

He was at their tail now, his sword in front of him, and the tip of it very nearly took off Merlin's arm. Merlin yelped and speeded up, dimly aware that behind him, Morgana had begun to scream.

"No! No! Don't, you'll hurt him! Merlin! Stop! Guards, _STOP_!" Her enraged, and yet somehow still stupid roar was beginning to carry further than the shouts of the approaching guards.

Not-Arthur, now right behind them, swung his sword one more time, and Arthur gasped… For a second Merlin's heart stopped, he was so sure that Arthur had been killed, but then the prince turned around, and drove his own sword toward Not-Arthur.

Not-Arthur blocked and struck, and was blocked and struck at. It was truly bizarre, the sight of the prince fighting himself, but in different clothing. Standing next to each other, the difference in expression and way of holding their shoulders was obvious. But it wasn't obvious who was the better fighter.

And then Arthur pulled back and stuck his sword right into the other man's soldier. Not-Arthur's sword fell from his grip, and his knees buckled and hit the ground. He clapped his hand to his shoulder, gasping, but the red blood soaked through immediately, slipping in between in his fingers.

_Well,_ Arthur thought, _that should keep them busy for a while._ He looked up to see if the guards were still approaching, but they seemed to have lost interest in the escaping men. Half of them were focused on their fallen prince. The other half was trying to restrain a hysterical Morgana.

Arthur turned and, right behind Merlin, he disappeared into the trees.

They ran like they were being chased, though at this point they didn't think they were, occasionally glancing back over their shoulder. But soon the exciting rush of battle wore off, and Arthur had to stop.

"Merlin," he called, and the other man stopped too, looking back at his prince.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

"I don't…" Arthur's face had gone ashen, and Merlin's brow furrowed. "We have to stop," he said.

"W… Why? Are you okay?"

Arthur tried to smile. "Fine. I'm fine." And then he toppled over, straight over. He face planted into the ground, and though Merlin tried to catch him, there wasn't the time.

Arthur's back was facing upwards, giving Merlin a perfect view of why the prince had gasped when Merlin thought he had been struck. Turned out, he had been struck. The gash in his back was a foot and a half if it was an inch, and blood was soaking into his clothes faster than Merlin's eyes could follow it. The ground right behind him was littered with the evidence of bleeding.

For a moment or two, Merlin's body stopped working. He didn't breathe. He could have sworn his heart stopped. His brain didn't work.

But the moment passed, and then all that Merlin knew was that Arthur may have just received his death wound, and they were in enemy territory with no one to turn to for help.

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><p><strong>AN: Wait, did I say THIS chapter would be longer? I meant NEXT chapter… which should also be the last chapter, up soon! So please review! **


	14. I'm Returning!

**Without any ado…**

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><p>There were a few things that were never allowed to happen. Ever. No where and no time were those things allowed to come about, and if they did, something terrible and catastrophic would happen to the world in general. Merlin knew this. He knew that with all the horrible things that had happened to him in his life, there were some lines that the uncaring, stark world would not dare cross. <em>Would not dare.<em>

But Arthur was bleeding to death before his eyes, lying face first in the dirt of an unfamiliar world; they were alone and unarmed. And it looked a lot like the world was daring.

Merlin dropped to his knees, his hand hovering above Arthur. "Arthur?" he choked out. "Arthur?"

Arthur gave a shuddering breath and tried to open his eyes. "Wha…?" he nearly managed.

He was alive. For now. Alive but dying. "Don't talk, Arthur; don't say anything now. Don't worry. It's going to be fine."

"I've b-been in…jured," Arthur hissed, his words not wanting to come out.

"Yes, but you'll be fine. We'll get you home."

Arthur nodded, his head falling forward, and he didn't speak again. After quickly checking to make sure he hadn't died just then, Merlin wasted about fifteen seconds cursing Not-Arthur for hurting his friend. Then he put out his hand again, placing it on Arthur's back, but careful to avoid any blood.

He tried; he really did. He used the spell he'd found in his book once. He tried it three times. He tried one he'd just heard around. He tried making up one… or two.

Arthur's breathing just got shallower, and Merlin lurched back from his friend's side, roughly brushing the tears away from his eyes.

"Don't worry, Arthur," he mumbled. "Don't worry."

He stood and looked desperately around the clearing. Help. He needed help. He'd take it from anyone right now—even Not-Morgana. Though that wasn't really an option.

Old Merlin. He'd try Old Merlin. Merlin opened his mouth to call the man, realizing that he'd never really used his name for fear of confusing himself. But he had bigger fears now. "Merlin? Merlin! Dragoon?" He thought. "Old Merlin! You?"

Nothing. No response. The trees echoed his cries back at him.

Merlin swallowed. He could barely breathe. The tears were running down his face, but he took no notice of them. They weren't important now.

"_Merlin_?" he called again, hopefully. And then desperately. "Please. Old Merlin. Dragoon. Help me! _Please help me_!"

When he received no answer, Merlin choked back a sob and went back to Arthur's side. That was where he belonged.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"What are you worried about?" Merlin finally asked Old Merlin, who was beginning to pace and run his wrinkled head together.

"Us," he said.

"I don't understand."

"Me and the other Merlin, though we're technically the same. I remember this part. It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. Arthur's probably half-dead by now."

What, so he wasn't allowed to kill the prince, but when Old Merlin allowed it to happen, it was perfectly all right? Merlin bristled at the injustice but quickly forgot it. "Haven't you already been through this, though? Why worry if you know what's going to happen?"

Old Merlin smiled. "Arthur's my destiny at every age. I can't _not_ worry about him."

Merlin shrugged. _I'm going to pretend that's not a very, very strange thing to say. _"Well, then why don't you just go help now?"

"Because that isn't what he did sixty years ago! He needs to learn his lesson! I need to learn my lesson first."

Younger Merlin surveyed Older Merlin with interest for a moment. At last he announced, "Old man, you are batty."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur gave the tiniest of groans. He wouldn't have let it escape if he hadn't been unconscious. Merlin winced at the sound. The bleeding was slowing, unless it was his imagination, but Merlin knew that Arthur had minutes left. And his protector didn't even have water to wash the wound off with.

"This is all my fault," Merlin said out loud. "Well, since he is me, it's really all my fault… But it's my fault, just me… today-me." Merlin looked at the prince, who wasn't listening. But Merlin had to say it anyway. "I never really thought you didn't like me, Arthur. I shouldn't have tried to leave, to give up on my destiny. Now you're injured and it's because I couldn't learn some stupid lesson!"

He looked at the sky, trying to keep back the tears that just kept streaming.

"You're my destiny," he said at last, his voice strangled. "And more, you're my friend."

_BANG!_

Merlin leapt to his feet, but it wasn't necessary. Old Merlin – now he arrived! – had suddenly appeared in the clearing and rushed forward to the gasping and dying Arthur's side.

"Took you long enough to learn your lesson!" he growled irritably at Merlin, as if it was the young warlock's fault. The Merlins – for there were two young ones around at the moment – both raised eyebrows at that comment.

But Old Merlin didn't care. He just grabbed Arthur's arm.

_BANG!_

And just like that, the two Merlins were alone in the forest.

The Merlin with shorter hair, who considered himself the real Merlin, spun around once in confusion. "Where did they go?" he cried.

"To heal that Arthur," said Not-Merlin at once. "Old You explained it to me on the way over here. He's going to take him to Camelot… one of them… and heal him quickly, then bring him home and come back for you. It shouldn't take long."

"Oh," said Merlin, sighing. "I learnt the lesson?"

Merlin with the evil grin and hair covering his forehead shrugged. "Apparently. Seems rather foolish to me, but I don't argue with those who can use powerful spells like that. Not while I'm unarmed."

"I suppose…" said Merlin, wiping away the tears on his face (for he just knew that the other Merlin was judging him for them), "that you must be Not-Merlin?"

"No, on the contrary, I think you're Not-Merlin."

"Whichever." Merlin shrugged. "Then we'll be going back to our own homes."

Not-Merlin nodded, and then looked at Merlin for a second, rather closely. "I wouldn't usually admit this," he said in his smooth, insinuating way, "but since we'll never meet again it can't really hurt. I pity you, having to return there."

"_You_ pity _me_?" Merlin gawked. "What happened?"

Not-Merlin nodded. "I spent the past days surrounded by incessant _smiling_. It nearly drove me to insanity. And I ended the time by nearly getting my head knocked off by a pot." He pointed to his head. Blood was still matted in his dark hair.

"_Smiling_? I had to face… Wait. Why did you get your head hit by a pot?"

Not-Merlin blinked. "You've got a bit of explaining to do when you get home. Especially to your Gwen."

Merlin shook that thought away. "I spent the past days with a master who hated me and suspected me, a guardian that wanted to poison me, a king that wanted to hide from me, and worst of all, Morgana wanting to… Well, she wanted a lot of things, all the time, but she wanted them very much! I can't believe you'd want to go back to that."

"How is Morgana?" Not-Merlin asked immediately, a flicker of some emotion in his eyes.

"She's… probably crying. I left her yelling at some guards."

"Was she hurt?"

"No, just angry. And confused. But then—"

"She's always confused," both men finished together.

"The Arthur from your world, though… He's not." Merlin winced, for the first time realizing exactly what he'd done. "He's wounded and wants to arrest you. You may have a bit of explaining to do too."

Not-Merlin tilted his head. "How hurt?"

"Stabbed in the shoulder, but he was alive last I saw him."

"Then he'll be fine," Not-Merlin said dismissively, waving his hand. "Between Gaius and me, he'll make it. And there's no need to worry about me… I'll just say it was an enchantment. That always works."

Some things remained constant, then. Merlin might use that too. Or he might just have Arthur help him talk to everyone involved, unless the king was mixed up in whatever happened.

Not-Merlin looked towards Camelot. "I'll be heading back home, then," he said. "You can wait here for Old Merlin."

Merlin nodded, accepting that plan. He realized that he was still standing and sunk to a sitting position next to a tree.

Not-Merlin nodded farewell and turned to go, but stopped and turned back. "Merlin?" he said.

"Yes?"

"You shouldn't cry. It's a sign of weakness."

And then he turned and was gone.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Old Merlin did indeed come back for Merlin. It took only a few minutes, but the instant he arrived, Merlin was on his feet.

"How is Arthur?" he asked.

"Fine. He'll make it. He's resting in his own bed at the moment."

Merlin sighed in relief… And then he got angry. "Why did you take so long?" he demanded. "Arthur was dying."

"I would not let him die," Old Merlin assured him seriously. "Don't forget, sixty years ago, I was where you are now. Actually, I was you."

"Please, don't start that again." Merlin shook his head and pressed his palm to his brow for a moment. "Can you… just take me home? Please?"

"Of course," Old Merlin said, rather sympathetically. "You've learned your…"

"If I were you, I wouldn't even say that," Merlin warned, glaring, and then the old man chuckled kindly and offered a hand for Merlin to take.

With a reluctant sigh, Merlin took it.

_BANG!_

When the world came back, the surroundings looked like they had when Merlin had first appeared in Not-Camelot. He was on the road, empty space and sky stretching around him. But he knew better. He was home; he could feel it.

"Camelot," he breathed. "Finally."

"Before you go, though," said Dragoon, holding out a hand to stop Merlin.

Merlin had actually begun to walk forward, and didn't appreciate being stopped, but he stayed put anyway. He didn't want to get dragged away to another world again. "What is it?" he said, not as patiently as he could have. "I want to go see Arthur."

"I have a few things to tell you before you go," said Old Merlin, clasping his hands together and looking very wise and impressive. Merlin wasn't impressed.

"Well," he said, "tell me quickly. Not to be rude or anything, but I'm a little annoyed at you."

"And you will be for many years. But not when you're eighty. Remember that. Eighty years old is the time. To the day… The birthday, precisely."

There was a pause as Merlin took a step back. "What does that mean?"

"Don't worry about it too much," said Old Merlin. "Another thing, you may want to talk to Gwen first thing. You can tell her the truth, or most of it. She might think you're still a crazy assassin if you don't."

"…What did that other Merlin _do_?"

"Don't let it bother you. And then, after you've talked to Gwen, you can go see Arthur."

Merlin crossed his arms. "Is that all you want to say?"

"I believe so," said the old man. "Welcome home." He smiled, the grin taking over his craggy face momentarily. And then, with a flash of golden eyes and a swish of those horrible robes (here an image of Not-Arthur made Merlin shudder), he disappeared.

_BANG!_

Merlin was entirely alone, with just the feeling that he really should have punched the old man in the face, and the sudden desire to find Morgana after he finished talking to Gwen and Arthur and engage her in a really good, hateful fight.

It sounded wonderful.

But before he did anything… There was one thing that he needed to look up…

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin found the page in his magic book after just a few minutes. It was right there, though he knew the spell was beyond his power at this point in time.

The time-traveling page.

He plopped his book down on his bed, and went and got a pen and inkwell. Careful not to spill the ink, he put both down on the floor and sat down. Then he picked up the pen, dipped it in the ink, and on the white page describing time travel, he wrote in thick, black, slanted letters:

_NOT FUNNY._

**END.**

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><p><strong>AN: Yes. Yes, it is over! I'm excited too; I got it out before November! Whew and Whoooo!**

**Alright, well, since it's the last chapter, please let me know what you think!  
><strong>

**Also, there is a poll on my profile that pertains to this fic, so please vote. I won't leave it up more than a few weeks, I think.**

**Now I must leave. Thanks for reading.**

**~ Kitty O of Awesomeness **


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